Greetings. Thank you for reading and commenting on the previous chapter. Apologies for the sprinkling of errors that crept through. I have checked this chapter but, as it's after 1.30 am, a few more mistakes might have passed me by. Again, I'm sorry.
So, in the aftermath of the explosion, what has happened?
CHAPTER 46
Tréville's initial feeling was of sick dread but it was rapidly replaced by a cold, calm, authority as his immediate responsibility was to the royal couple.
A first look at the carriage indicated that it had been far enough down the processional line that its main damage was at the back and only to the paintwork. Wrenching open the door and simultaneously yelling for Claude who had been riding with him near the head of the column, he saw Louis and Anne sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor whilst Richelieu was lying across one of the seats.
"Your Majesties, are you hurt?" he asked, his words spilling out in a rush.
Louis was undoubtedly shaken, and the Queen was fighting to compose herself from the threatening tears but they both declared that they were unscathed, their concern being for those around them.
"I will not lie, it looks bad, but I will have a better idea as soon as I have got you to safety," the Captain said brusquely. He did not ask Richelieu how he fared but raised a quizzical eyebrow in his direction.
"I am fine," the Cardinal ground out, pushing himself upright into a more dignified position and offering a hand to help the Queen untangle herself from her husband.
"Claude, get them to safety now," Tréville ordered.
"Palace or Notre Dame?" Claude wanted to know.
It took but a second for Tréville to make a decision. It was impossible to go back the way they had come so an alternate route to the palace would be required and more attackers could be lying in wait along that way to take advantage of the catastrophic diversion created here. He could not spare too many men from the scene, but he knew where there were more already waiting.
"To the cathedral – it's closest - and into a side chapel. Pull all Musketeers there into a tight protective circle and you stay there until I have some control here." He looked to Louis. "My apologies, Sire, for the discomfort but I have more men there at Notre Dame."
"Of course," Louis agreed, his face ashen as the shock began to take effect.
Tréville slammed the door shut.
"Go!" he bellowed and watched as the carriage moved along the road to safety, accompanied by the group of mounted Musketeers who had been at the head of the procession and now led by Claude.
Then, and only then, did Tréville turn to take stock of the carnage that had formerly been the middle of the procession. Of the Ambassador's carriage, little remained. The blast had gone up through the floor and taken out the sides. It was clear that no-one seated within it would have survived but at least he could immediately see that there were no broken bodies lying in the wreckage. He needed to find de Calatrava and Ferdinand urgently.
The brunt of the blast had been borne by those lining the narrow road to either side of the carriage, the results horrendous and involving Musketeers, Red Guard and citizens of Paris. He needed no second glance to know that a number of the victims were beyond being helped.
In the immediate aftermath of the explosion and the shower of flying debris, there had been a moment of eerie silence and then the cacophony started: the screams of terror; the cries of the injured; the shouts of people desperate to locate loved ones; the keening of those already aware of their bereavement; the awful sound of injured animals and other frightened horses.
Musketeers had been in front of the carriage and Brondate's men behind it and any who were still in saddles fought to control their circling mounts whilst others moved in to catch trailing reins of riderless beasts. There was no room for any of the horses to bolt but there was a greater danger of them trampling the injured beneath their hooves. Riders slid to the ground and opted to lead them away from the horrific scene. Some even threw their cloaks over the animals' heads to blind them from the chaos that was happening around them.
Musketeers at the rear of the column had tethered their horses to anything immovable they could find and surged forward on foot to render assistance to the fallen, identifying the dead and checking injuries of the wounded.
Tréville grabbed the arm of a Musketeer, Davide, who was passing him.
"Get back to the garrison and fetch the cart that's ready and waiting. Tell Serge we have incoming injured and dead. We will transfer all wounded and dead to the garrison, soldiers and civilians alike, and we'll sort them from there. The mess and infirmary will take the worst injured. Walking wounded can be treated in the yard for now. The stable boys will have mucked out the stables in our absence so the dead can be laid out there on fresh straw in the first instance. The horses can be put out in the back field."
With a nod, the Musketeer was gone and Tréville turned to another.
"Henri, ride for the palace. Inform them what has happened. I want the King's physician to go to Notre Dame to ensure that Their Majesties are unhurt as they claimed and then I would appreciate his assistance at the garrison. If he can bring any more help there, it would be welcomed."
A civilian hovered at his elbow and he frowned; he did not need distraction right now.
"I am Pierre Dupont from the inn further down the road. I heard you mention a cart to move the casualties. I will bring mine and will ask my neighbours to bring theirs; we are at your service."
"Thank you," Tréville said, his mind racing. With the royal carriage and the Musketeers at the front having left for the cathedral, that was the easiest access, although a longer route back to the garrison. There were too many horses being calmed towards the rear of the column and he would need them out of the way for any carts coming directly from the direction of the Musketeer base. He pointed to where he wanted Dupont to be.
"We'll need you to get as close as you can and then we'll ferry the injured to you."
More civilians were arriving all the time to offer help or to merely stand and gawp at the unfolding tragedy.
Tréville tasted bile and swallowed angrily. He had injured, probably dead and missing men and some people thought they could just be spectators?
He strode towards one particular group, his face like thunder. "If you think you're just going to stand there and watch, think again. You either help or get out of here, out of our way."
He vaguely registered that some had snapped into action whilst others sloped away. Good riddance! His attention, however, was drawn to Porthos who was hurrying towards him, dragging a bloodied man with him. He was obviously not in the least bothered by the state of the man.
"The bomber," he announced as he reached the Captain.
"You're sure?" Tréville asked, hardly daring to draw breath. He could not believe that hey would have such luck in apprehending the perpetrator and so soon. They had not known such good fortune in most things related to the treaty.
"Athos pointed 'im out to me. Anyway, this one fits the description of the man 'e saw Gallegos meet," and he indicated the man's scar. "Can't be too many people in Paris with a scar like this. What d'you want me to do with him?"
The man seemed to dangle from Porthos' fist but at least had the sense not to try to protest his innocence, not at that moment.
"Take him to the holding cell at the garrison and guard him," Tréville ordered.
"You don't want me to come back 'ere to 'elp?"
"Not this time. I want him guarded until he can be questioned which will not be for many hours. I do not want Richelieu or de Calatrava to know we've got him so the sooner you get him out of here the better. He is the best lead we have in this whole debacle and I do not want anything to happen to him."
Porthos nodded, looked about him at the people moving amongst the dead and injured. He frowned for he was searching for two familiar figures.
"Where're Athos an' Aramis?" He tried to keep his voice even but Tréville detected the catch that denoted the big man's anxiety for his brothers.
"I'm looking for them now. They must be with Ferdinand and the Ambassador because I haven't seen them yet either." He saw Porthos' eyes settle on the wreckage that had once been a coach. "There was no-one there."
Porthos' cheeks puffed as he exhaled loudly with some relief. "They weren't in it or right by it then."
"No," Tréville clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Get this man back to the garrison and I will continue the search for the others."
Alone, Tréville surveyed the scene. Having identified the dead, soldiers and civilians, some of whom had arrived from nearby buildings with water and rag bandages, crouched beside the injured, offering what help they could.
The Captain slowly picked his way amongst the fallen and felt a spasm of guilt when he realised that there were more fatalities amongst the Red Guard and civilians than in the Musketeers, but his heart ached when he recognised the three men he had lost.
Three so far but how many more?
He paused to give words of encouragement to his soldiers who were conscious before he moved on.
Suddenly, his heart leapt with relief when he saw Aramis crossing the roadway towards him, his progress slowed as he assisted a shaken and bleeding de Calatrava.
"Ambassador, are you badly hurt?" Tréville asked, trying to sound concerned.
"The Ambassador is a little unsteady, but the cuts are all superficial. I have already examined him," Aramis assured the Captain.
"But where were you?" Tréville wanted to know. "Where did you shelter?"
"The carriage was level with a side alley and when the alarm was raised, I went down there," de Calatrava answered haltingly, his words punctuated by repeated wincing.
"I saw him go and thought to follow to ensure that he was safe," Aramis explained. "Porthos took off in another direction. Where did he go? Is he unhurt?"
"He's fine," Tréville said hastily, unwilling to disclose in front of de Calatrava that Porthos had gone after the bomber and successfully caught him. "More on that later."
"And Athos?"
Tréville sighed. "I am still looking for him and the Cardinal Infante. Like you, they probably sought refuge somewhere."
Was it his imagination or had de Calatrava straightened at the mention of Ferdinand?
"Then His Eminence escaped?" the Ambassador said, rearranging his features to look a little more pleased. "God be praised!"
"Where is the King?" Aramis asked, suddenly remembering that, with his duty as a Musketeer, he ought to inquire after the royal couple.
"Safe at the Cathedral with the Queen and a large, armed guard of Musketeers. I need to get them back to the palace as soon as I can, but I cannot leave here yet. Escort the Ambassador back to the garrison; you can use a couple of the horses back there." He was taking it for granted that, with de Calatrava's history, he was capable of riding.
"Why can't I return to the palace?" the Ambassador demanded.
"I do not have the manpower to spare a guard detail with you there. I have injured Musketeers and Red Guard here and a number of your men were caught in the blast as they were immediately behind your carriage. Besides, the King's physician had been summoned to the garrison; he will dress your cuts and make sure that you have no other injuries. Aramis, take the Ambassador to my office."
If Tréville sounded a little curt, it was because he had no time for deliberating with the Ambassador the best place for the man to go, especially if he was involved in the attack. Tréville had far more pressing things to attend to and he crouched by one of the Red Guard who sat propped against a wall, his eyes wide with shock. He was vaguely aware of Aramis leading the Ambassador to the horses, but he was not prepared for the younger Musketeer to suddenly stop and let out a cry.
"Captain!" Aramis yelled from where he knelt beside what appeared to be a mound of tangled clothing but Tréville knew immediately that he had found his brother.
Athos lay face down and was very still, blood matting the hair on the back of his head. Aramis had brushed off some of the debris and the worst of the dust that covered the fallen man and was reaching for a pulse.
"He's alive," Aramis verified, his relief palpable.
Suddenly, Athos lurched upwards and fell back again. A third hand appeared and scrabbled at the soil and there was a muffled groan.
"Cardinal!" Tréville gasped.
Together, he and Aramis gently rolled Athos onto his back to reveal the Cardinal Infante who had been pinned to the ground face down by the unconscious Musketeer. Tréville helped him to turn over and eased him into a sitting position. The young man ran a hand over his dazed features.
"Are you hurt, Cardinal?" the Captain asked worriedly.
"I feel as if I have been trampled by a crowd. Other than that, I am fine," Ferdinand said with a rueful smile and shaking his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. He glanced sadly towards Athos lying beside him. "He saved my life. Please tell me he's not dead."
"He's unconscious but I'm sure he'll be back with us before too long," Tréville said, trying to sound more optimistic than he felt. He looked to Aramis who could not hide his own concern. "You need to get back to the garrison with the Ambassador. There are carts on their way, and I shall send the Cardinal Infante and Athos in the first one I can. Understood?"
Aramis could not protest. He laid a hand briefly on Athos' forehead and, with one last look at his unresponsive brother, he rose to his feet.
"Ambassador," he said, gesturing for de Calatrava to precede him towards the horses.
As Tréville watched them go, he saw the cart approaching from the garrison. Serge was driving and beside him was Davide, whom Tréville had sent back with instructions.
Standing tall, Tréville shouted and waved to get their attention. Confident that they had seen him and were coming over to him first, he crouched beside Athos again and slid a hand beneath his shoulders to raise him up.
"Come on, lad; let's get you back to the infirmary," he said. "You're making a habit of this and I'm always left waiting for you to wake up."
"What the bloody 'ell 'as been goin' on 'ere?" Serge said and then saw Ferdinand sitting on the ground. "Beggin' your pardon, your Eminence. No offence meant."
"None taken," Ferdinand said. Somehow, he was still smiling.
As Tréville and Davie carried Athos to the cart and gently laid him in the back, Serge assisted Ferdinand and other Musketeers began to bring the more seriously injured to fill the cart for its initial run. Other carts started arriving at the other end of the chaotic scene to transport the remainder of the living and the dead.
Tréville took Serge to one side. "The Cardinal Infante must be tended first. If he's correct, he has superficial cuts and bruises and a bit of a headache, but I want to know for certain."
Serge sniffed. "I'll see it done. And then Athos?"
"That depends. The King's physician and Aramis must see to the injured in order of severity. They will have to prioritise."
"What about you?" Serge asked.
Hands on hips, Tréville cast an eye over the bedlam. "I must leave instructions regarding the clearing up here and when that's delegated, I must go to Notre Dame to oversee the transfer of the King, Queen and Richelieu back to the Louvre."
The old cook nodded and turned to go.
"Serge," Tréville stopped him, and their eyes met. "Look after our boys, all of them; the hurt ones and …," he paused, took a deep breath as emotion threatened to overwhelm him, and straightened his back, "and those who have followed their last orders."