XXVIII – Retreat

Even in the vast corridors of the Palais Cardinal, with its sheer endless number of chambers and utility rooms, there were not enough doors to slam shut thunderously to take Jussac's anger out on them. There weren't enough servants to shout at and not a single guardsman around for Jussac to tread inferiors under foot; they all knew it too well when their lieutenant was that enraged at Rochefort, and they dodged him as best they could.

Half of it was just acting. Jussac had acquired the reputation of being a real rager in order to clear some space. A few minutes just for himself and his thoughts whenever it became necessary, without anyone pestering him with questions about the changing of the guard or similar matters.

The other half was genuine anger, helpless wrath at not being able to go against orders. Not being able to stand up to a master who condoned the death of his own subordinates out of some half-baked calculation. Obedience was part of a soldier's life and Jussac would have unhesitatingly thrown himself in front of any bullet aimed at His Eminence, parried any sword stroke intended to strike down the Prime Minister, intercepted any dagger thrust against Richelieu with his own life. That was his duty, that was what he had sworn to do. Every Guardsman had, and they prided themselves on their loyalty - it seemed inconceivable, utterly incomprehensible, that any of them could have betrayed the Cardinal now. Breach of loyalty, the worst of all crimes a vassal could commit. Treason.

Jussac's heavy boot steps echoed in the gallery. Dozens of empty eyes followed him on his way, the gazes of mighty armies and powerful commanders weaved in the tapestries. There, faceless soldiers threw themselves into battle against numerous enemies, a blurred mass of bodies and weapons. Their mouths wide open, but without any voice. Whether they lived or died was indifferent to the viewer. They were only background, in front proudly emblazoned the general, the sovereign over the scene. His glorious deeds were told and praised, he outshone everything, friend and foe, time and space. He alone was human, the others only dull colour, brown and red and dirty. Their only purpose was to highlight the splendour and glory of their Master. For this they surged and died in the battle painting without questioning their role.

Jussac stopped abruptly and stared at the tapestry. It hung from the ceiling, several yard wide and high, weighing many centners. Up close, the motif could not be grasped, the details were blurred, the depiction impossible to survey. Enormous and huge, the carpet sought to impress and intimidate. It seemed to want to overwhelm Jussac, and if it had been torn from its brackets at that moment, it would have buried the lieutenant heavily beneath itself, broken every bone in his body and suffocated him. An inglorious end for the lieutenant of the guard, a regrettable loss, but easily to be replaced.

»What's eating you?«

Jussac turned and looked straight into Biscarat's questioning face. The Gascon had approached quietly, unimpressed and at the same time concerned by his friend's foul mood. Jussac uttered a surprised, »Goddam!«

»Ah, Him. God.« Biscarat made a dismissive gesture with his hand and his eyes fleetingly grazed the tapestry that told of the victory over La Rochelle. Of the roaring surges against the coast, the rumble of thunder in the heavy grey sky, the untamed nature that Richelieu seemed to defy in full armour, though the wind tugged hollering at his red soutane, while at his feet a battle raged that had never happened in this way. »I'd have suspected His servants on earth behind your thoughts.«

Jussac hesitated and only now did it dawn on him what the tapestry really showed. Somewhere there in the picture, in the faceless army, the Cardinal's guard was fighting too. Somewhere there were also Bernajoux and Biscarat, Cahusac and himself; without anyone knowing of them, for they had been rendered unrecognisable, colourless, insignificant. He tore himself away from the sight and turned his whole attention to his friend. »I cannot change my skin.«

Biscarat smirked. »None of us can, the uniform has become second nature.«

»Yes.« Jussac's teeth were grinding and at that moment he didn't care if his further words could be fed to Rochefort. »Nevertheless, we're under suspicion.«

Biscarat nodded. »One of us is said to be playing a false game.«

Jussac read his own unpleasant thoughts in his friend's expression and spoke them out. »Does Captain Luchaire know? That Rochefort sicced his spies on us?«

»If Luchaire knows, he deliberately didn't inform you.«

»I could be trying to cover something up, biased as I am,« stated Jussac calmly, yet not quite able to banish the destructive poison from his voice. He took a deep breath and admitted, »Rochefort is right. I'd not be able to find one among the men who would betray us, betray His Eminence. Heavens, I can't even think of a reason for it!«

»Same here.« Biscarat bowed his head thoughtfully, apparently his instinct as a casual agent had been aroused. »Motives would come to mind in many ways, but without circumstantial evidence or proof, we don't even have to speculate. As matters are, we have merely heard an allegation from Rochefort. It doesn't need to be true.«

»I wish it was like it. How badly I wish for it...« replied Jussac tonelessly. It couldn't be helped, the suspicion was in the world and they had to assume it was well founded. But everything in Jussac resisted just accepting it. »I want to find the accused guardsman before Rochefort. I want to talk to him. I have to talk to him, I need to know. Why?«

»Such nagging questions?«

Jussac shook his head. »No, I'm concerned with whom I might save from the gallows. What misconduct one of us is said to be guilty of. Was it foolishness or real treachery? Others may hand us over to death without batting an eye. I won't make it that easy for myself!«

Biscarat remained silent for a while, studying his friend attentively. Jussac was obviously serious about to oppose Rochefort and the Cardinal. Not with resignation from his post, with resignation from the service for having broken loyalty to Jussac on ones part. For it was nothing else to silently accuse him, too, of not being in control of the corps. Jussac could have simply kept his head down, but the affairs of the regiment were his responsibility, not that of a certain stable master. »Well, Rochefort himself has demanded to keep an eye on the men. So it's very likely, that we'll track down the soldier in question first.«

A half-smile stole onto Jussac's face and drove away the gloomy thoughts for moments. They stuck together, unshakably. As friends and as comrades. It was time to take matters into their own hands and they had an astonishing advantage; an enemy who had changed sides. Who was less blind, but just as sincere in his loyalty. »D'Artagnan could already be on to something.«

»Maybe.« Biscarat gestured with a thumb over his shoulder, vaguely in the direction of the main gate. »After your stormy exit, he was also in quite a hurry to leave the scene. Are we going to stick to his heels?«

Jussac nodded grimly. The race against time had begun.


Elise ran like she had never run before in her life. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her lungs burned with cold stabs at each breath. Her legs wanted to give way, but sheer will drove her onwards. The clay roadbed swallowed the sound of her footsteps and yet they seemed deafeningly loud and treacherous. The wind howled and braced itself against her, rattling roof shingles and shutters, calling out for Rochefort's henchmen. Out of the corner of her eye, Elise thought she saw hands reaching out to her from every pitch-black alley. She dodged, pursued only by the demons in her head.

With her dress wafting, she fled around another street corner and was suddenly confronted by real noise. Booming laughter, the shrill sounds of a fiddle, multiple voices in which every single word was inaudibly lost. Vinous bliss, fatty food and beautifully barmaids. The hustle and bustle at the Three Crowns was approaching closing time and the people were celebrating all the more hilariously towards the climax.

Elise's steps slowed and finally stopped altogether. The tips of her feet touched the thin line painted on the floor by the light from one of the tavern windows, like a sharp border between night and life. The door swung open and a drunk staggered out, supported by two boozing companions. In high spirits, they followed down the street, Elise swerving to the side, the wall of the house at her back. The half-timbering was solid and sturdily built, giving the young woman security. The revellers staggered past, oblivious to Elise in the shadows. She watched them for a long time, but their silhouettes did not suddenly merge into a single figure at the end of the street that would have pursued Elise with a cold stare and a bloody cheek.

She scurried past the window and left the Three Crowns behind her. Only a few steps later she was standing in front of her own doorstep, leaning her forehead against the wood in relief. Above her, light filtered from the gap between two shutters. It flickered unsteadily and welcomed Elise home. Odette and Grégoire were waiting for her there.

The lively bustle from the tavern sounded muffled and Elise fixed her hair with a hasty gesture, brushed a curl out of her forehead and ran her hands over her dress. She paused as she noticed her own actions. Then it occurred to her that her hesitation was not false vanity but instinctive distrust. Was her house also a trap by now, was the homely, warm light upstairs from Sorel's sickroom just a deception?

Elise reached for her pistol, but to no avail. It had been lost in the scuffle earlier. How could she have forgotten? She looked up at the window, there was nothing to indicate that an ambush was waiting for her. A flush of anger suddenly coloured her cheeks. Not in her house, the Cardinal had no power over her here! Determined, she reached out for the handle - and jerked back as the door was yanked open at the same moment. She stared at an embroidered cross on a red background, the fabric of a uniform. The Cardinal's henchmen!

»Elise, mordieux!« The guardsman did not attack her. On the contrary, he moved aside and unblocked the door. Elise blinked and stumbled clumsily a step forward, a hand at her elbow supporting her and guiding her wholly over the threshold into the house. The door was pushed shut, Elise looked up, no longer only aware of the red uniform, which seemed filthy with gunshot residues and road dust, crumpled and all ruined. D'Artagnan was wearing it, measuring her with an expression of both supreme concern and infinite relief. Why was he here? She frowned and shook off his hand. »I'll manage!«

»Of course.« D'Artagnan stepped back with a placating gesture. Elise suppressed an impulse to cross her arms defiantly and instead took the ointment for Sorel and the mixture for the herbal infusion out of her pocket. She put everything down in the kitchen, feeling d'Artagnan's eyes on her every second. She paid no attention to him and hoped he would be oblivious to her own shuddering, the echo of the last few minutes. At the same time, she was glad not to be alone now. She had escaped, safe for now.

Elise slipped off her coat with trembling fingers and folded it carefully. Silently, d'Artagnan followed her every move, seeming to suspect that while he should stay close, it would be better if he kept his mouth shut. Elise stowed the coat in a chest of drawers, unnecessarily shifting some gloves and scarves from left to right and back again until her heart was beating calmly. She took a deep breath and finally said, as if casually, »Odette can't stay. She must leave, this very night. This very hour.«

She closed the drawer with a jerk and stared at the plastered, bare wall above the chest of drawers. Perhaps she should arrange a vase of flowers or hang up one of Odette's embroideries? She sometimes had so little time besides her work at the Palais to make her own home nice and cosy! She did not remain undisturbed in these thoughts for long. D'Artagnan leaned against the commode and scrutinised her attentively. She hadn't noticed that he had stepped next to her and was waiting for her to return to the here and now. She sighed barely audibly and he asked, »What happened?«

Elise almost missed the harsh commanding tone that was usually in the officer's voice, no matter who he was talking to, or what about. What good was his sincere concern, his warm and gentle words? She wasn't going to cry her heart out on his shoulder, darn it! She had clearly said what had to happen next! She was not invisible! »They'll find Odette. The Cardinal's men, they will come. We don't have time!«

She turned gruffly away and hurried up the stairs to the upper floor. D'Artagnan followed her and his suspicion became a certainty when Elise rushed into Sorel's bedroom. She pretended to be quite calm, but was in fact as white as a sheet and was no longer in control of the situation. Odette rose from the edge of the bed, her hands folded well-behaved and her dress only slightly dishevelled. Sorel grinned innocently, but his smile faded when Elise spoke of Gustave, of the mousetrap and a broken lamp. Of an agent, a pistol and Gustave's death.

D'Artagnan silently cursed himself for being too late. Elise had fought back bravely, she had fled. He was compelled all admiration for her and at the same time it evoked anger at himself for having failed. He had left the palace at once to warn Elise, had told Cahusac at the gate that he wanted to check on Sorel, to have a justification if anyone asked for him. Far too late, for Elise truly didn't need a dumb hero to be saved. He would have loved to clasp her into his arms, simply to be reassured that she was indeed unharmed. But she was right, there was no time to breathe a sigh of relief. Odette had to leave Paris. Now!

Sorel finally understood. He had probably already suspected it since d'Artagnan had sent him home from the infirmary. This adventure was over. The young guardsman might have used the last few hours to say goodbye without Odette's knowledge. »How do we do it?« he asked softly, avoiding his beloved's gaze. She withdrew her hand as he groped for her fingers.

The daughter of the Duke de la Nièvre bore it with proud composure and eyed d'Artagnan all the more coldly. »You have mused on this since you knew of our secret.«

D'Artagnan ignored the silent reproach. Instead, he drew out a folded dispatch, a letter he had written yesterday and had not yet gave to a messenger. The last events had gone head over heels, now the recipient would be handed the letter in person. »To an old friend who is absolutely trustworthy and discreet. He's the abbot of the monastery at Noisy, René d'Herblay. We used to call him Aramis, and if you address him as such, he will also be your friend.«

»A monastery?« Odette listened in surprise, but then inclined her head. »An excellent choice, Monsieur.«

She wanted to take the letter, but d'Artagnan held it out to Elise. She hesitated and looked up from the dispatch to him, the contradiction already on her lips. D'Artagnan did not allow it. »I beg you, Mademoiselle. Accompany your friend, stand by her. Disappear for a while until the dust settles.«

Elise perceived the urgency of his words and she did not like the fact that someone wanted to decide her fate over her head. But instead of resisting, she took the letter. She could not afford to waste time with long discussions. In the end, her resistance would have resulted in Odette not taking this rational path either. It was better to proceed with this plan for the time being. »For a while, if need be.«

D'Artagnan heard Elise's approval, half relieved and half disappointed. In view of the imminent danger, it was more than foolish to wish that she would not disappear out of his life tonight. He pushed aside his own silly hopes and stated, »We will hire a carriage. It will suffice for a down payment, and the abbot will settle of the remaining debt.«

»I will repay him threefold.« announced Odette with the self-evident arrogance of a person of rank for whom a livelihood had never been an issue. Sorel intervened before anyone could make an ugly remark, adding, »The town gates are locked and guarded at night, how will they get out?«

D'Artagnan had to admit that the closed gates could indeed prove to be an insurmountable obstacle. Perhaps bribes would help here too, but with that the whole hastily forged escape plan was built on sand. »If you don't happen to have a pass hidden under your blanket, we'll have to come up with something else.«

Elise thoughtfully brushed a copper-coloured curl behind her ear. »A pass, huh? Who issues such a thing?«

»No one who would give it to us voluntarily. We might as well go straight to Richelieu and ask him for his seal and signature.«

»Then let's do it!« Elise clapped her hands triumphantly. »We assure ourselves of the Cardinal's help!« She ignored the equally puzzled and startled looks of the men. She glanced at Odette, whose questioning expression was soon brightened by understanding. »Oh! I see!«

Without another word of explanation, Odette stepped up to her clothes chest, rummaged around in it eagerly and finally seemed to have found what she was looking for. She kept her treasure hidden in her fist and made sure that all attention was really on her before showing off her find. »Will this count as a pass?«

Odette presented a true treasure. Gold and diamond shone in the candlelight, precious jewellery that the duke's daughter did not wear on her finger while she was hiding as an inconspicuous maid. It was not so much the valuable, glittering gemstone that attracted spellbound glances. Sorel slipped out of bed to look closely at the ring. Odette let him as he ran a finger over the fine trinket without quite touching it. »The Cardinal's seal...«

Odette nodded gently. Interwoven into the filigree gold of the ring was a coat of arms framing the diamond. She may have given her Grégoire the ring from the house of de la Nièvre as a token of favour. But Odette was equally a niece of the du Plessis family and also possessed their insignia. »If we present it, we will be travelling legitimately in my uncle's name.«

»That will do.« D'Artagnan broke the spell with this brief statement, even if he caught a doubtful look from Elise for his brusque manner. The young woman left it at that and turned to the practical execution of their escape plan. »I'll get my coat, then we'll see about that carriage.«

»We? Mademoiselle, I don't think-« interjected d'Artagnan, but Elise interrupted him with unmistakable clarity. »And I don't think letting you go alone.«

»You still do not trust me?«

»Not even an inch!« insisted Elise, perhaps not entirely truthfully. She had no idea how delightful she could be when she put her hands combatively on her hips. D'Artagnan would be damned if he would ever tell her that! Instead, he relented. »It shall be all right if you want to keep an eye on me. Hopefully that will save you from further traps and attacks.«

»I don't need a knight on horseback to protect me!«

»That's convenient, since I lost my stallion at the Pont Marie. Therefore, I cannot serve you with chivalry.« replied d'Artagnan dryly and wanted to say a word to Sorel and Odette. But when he turned around, he found the Duke's daughter at the open window. No matter how composed she had bore the situation so far, she now took a deep breath of the fresh night air and held the hand of her lover, who was romantically keeping her company for the last time.

»Hell, get away at once!« D'Artagnan sprang forward, pushed the stunned lovers aside and slammed the shutters. »Are you both insane to show yourselves openly?!«

»There was no one around,« Sorel muttered guiltily, and d'Artagnan snapped at him, »No one you would have noticed! Keep as quiet as a mouse now! In an hour-«

»Chevalier!« Elise suddenly called out for her horseless knight. Sorel held Odette protectively, ready to fight tooth and nail, and d'Artagnan spun around, one hand at his sword.

He froze in mid-motion so as not to give Biscarat the wrong idea. The guardsman had grabbed Elise by one arm and held the dagger ready for a quick thrust into her ribs. Genuine regret spoke from his dark eyes. Elise kept still and the world held its breath along with her.

Next to Biscarat stood Jussac, looking stonily from Odette, to Sorel, to d'Artagnan. The lieutenant made no move to reach for a weapon himself. He seemed infinitely tired, aged by years in one whack. They had come to visit the wounded Sorel after Cahusac had shown them the way. Had looked up at the window when no one responded to their knock at the door. Had not wanted to believe it, had let themselves in unnoticed, were now standing here and everything fell into place.

»So you are traitors...?«