A/N: Many thanks for reading and reviewing
Chapter Four
Cardinal Richelieu looked small in the cavernous, elaborate room he used as his office. Above him, the accomplished ceiling frescos within exquisite mouldings added a majestic, somewhat heavenly touch, as if one had stepped into a church.
It was, as in all things, a game to distract; to put one off guard. It was an illusion because, far from being small, this man was the most powerful in France, perhaps in Europe. He had the King's ear. Not only that, but he could manipulate the Monarch, all in the course of serving France. A gentle word, a subtle strategy that lured the Sovereign along whichever path Richelieu chose. One day, the King would mature sufficiently to challenge him and indeed, dismiss his advice, but at the moment, this was not so, and Richelieu took full advantage.
He continued to write as Treville walked across the highly polished floor to his desk. Another game, to ensure his visitors waited on him, for he would decide when to engage, even if it was he who had issued the invitation, or the order for the person to attend him. They would wait.
Treville knew all his games. He picked his battles, for Richelieu could be an unwitting ally, equally though not as ruthlessly manipulated by Treville, who was not above such games himself.
Now though, Treville was impatient and so he did not wait.
"Gaspar Raspier," he said, bluntly, dropping his hat on the corner of the large desk, which was capable of holding many ledgers and parchments; another game to ensure the visitor knew Richelieu was busy with important state affairs.
Richelieu, as expected, continued to write but Treville had noticed the hitch in the smoothness of the nib scratching across the parchment. Treville settled. It did not do to lose one's temper with The Cardinal. At least, not too soon.
Richelieu finally placed his quill down carefully and looked up, his hawk-like dull eyes boring into Treville's. It was meant to disarm, but Treville had withstood it many times. He simply looked back, unblinking.
"What about him?" the Cardinal said, quietly, his voice lower than usual.
Treville added to Richelieu's paperwork by dropping his own parchment on the desk in front of him.
"We have reason to believe ..." he began.
"Who has reason to believe? Richelieu interrupted him imperiously, picking up the paper with bony fingers. He rested his head on his other raised hand as he read, affecting a bored air. Another ploy that Treville usually ignored.
After a moment or two he dropped the paper down and waved his hand toward the one chair, before dismissing the guard on his door with a more impatient wave.
"Aramis, Porthos, Athos and myself," Treville said, pulling the chair over and sitting, once the door was closed at the other end of the room.
"Oh, then it must be important," Richelieu drawled, scornfully.
"And your spies, as you know," Treville finished.
Richelieu raised an eyebrow. He had a wide network of informers but sometimes, Treville managed to intercept or glean information before he himself was ready to share it. Richelieu did not like his hand being forced.
"Aramis, Porthos and Athos," Treville said, curtly, "were all at La Rochelle."
Richelieu sat back then, drumming his fingers on the desk, but not looking at Treville.
"We have not heard from Raspier since the city was sealed," he said. "Clearly, he is dead. Either inside or outside the walls."
"Perhaps not," Treville countered, doggedly. "We all agree this has his hallmarks. Perhaps The Wolf seeks retribution."
"Hearsay and speculation!" Richelieu said sharply as he looked at Treville over his desk. "If I were to take every threat to heart, I would not set foot outside the Palace!"
Treville leaned forward.
"You know The Wolf's reputation," he said, bluntly.
"You really think he is behind this?" Richelieu scoffed. "He must be an old man by now!"
"No older than us," Treville replied, simply.
Richelieu raised an eyebrow once more. Treville had a point.
"Wolves are cunning creatures," Treville continued. "They are patient. They bide their time. And any new pack will be made up of younger men. Ruthless men. He was known to obtain his followers from the survivors of the wars and upon the release of prisoners from The Chatelet, amongst other prisons."
Richelieu remained silent.
"You ignore your own spies at your peril," Treville pushed. "Something is happening and we need to be ready. You know his reputation," he reiterated.
Richelieu stood suddenly and began to pace.
Treville was used to seeing the man agitated, as he was not a patient man and did not suffer fools gladly but he watched as the Cardinal curled his hands into fists and his fingernails dug into his palms.
"It is behind us, Treville," he finally said, coming to a halt. "The whole business is finished. The Huguenots lost. They were vanquished and almost annihilated. They swore allegiance to the Crown thereafter."
"And the allegiance has held," Treville agreed. "I know you see La Rochelle as your greatest achievement but ..."
"Then, if it is starting up again, it needs stopping!" Richelieu fairly shouted the last word, obviously not wishing to rake over old coals. Nor listen to the Musketeer Captain besmirch his legacy, more like.
"We are on the same page at last," Treville said, taking the advantage; relieved to hear the Cardinal repeating his own thoughts back at him, clearly flustered.
"So, if it is The Wolf," Treville continued, his face remaining passive despite Richelieu's outburst, "What do you surmise his plan to be?"
"What do you mean?" Richelieu said, coming to a halt and glaring at him while biting a thumbnail.
"What form do you think his revenge will take?" Treville replied. "And, more importantly, on whom?"
Richelieu frowned.
"On you," Treville explained, "Or Louis?"
It was a thinly veiled remonstration Treville used to rattle the Cardinal further. For he had followed orders almost four years previously in 1627 when Richelieu had blockaded the port of La Rochelle, one of the largest cities in France, to defeat the Huguenot uprising, but he had not liked it. Richelieu had been the mastermind of the campaign, winning them victory, but at a terrible cost.
After the city's residents had "resisted" for fourteen months, the population had decreased from twenty seven thousand souls to five thousand. Surrender was unconditional. Treville had always considered there would be a price to pay at some point in the future.
When the Huguenots capitulated and subsequently swore allegiance to Louis XIII, it was because they had no choice. They were thoroughly beaten down, backed into a corner behind the sealed gates of the city and lucky to have escaped with their lives, those few that did. The continuous rebellions had to be put down, the Wars of Religion had dominated France for decades and almost cost the wealth of the country. The King's own mother had sewn the seeds of resentment, but Richelieu had ploughed the field. Louis had claimed a great victory the day the Huguenots surrendered and stumbled out of the city, but France had not won that day. Now, perhaps, The Wolf had returned, persistent and determined to finally defeat his foes.
Richelieu stopped worrying his thumbnail and rubbed his forehead.
"Instead of asking inane questions, Treville, don't you think you should be working on a plan of your own to investigate whether this threat is present? Is that not what your Musketeers are for? To protect the King!"
"And the Red Guard's purpose is to protect you," Treville replied, effectively and subtly abdicating responsibility for the man in front of him.
"Then whoever threatens France must deal with both regiments, Captain Treville," Richelieu replied, tersely. "When, and if the threat occurs! Perhaps you might bring me clear proof the next time you disturb me in the execution of my duties!"
Frustrated at the Cardinal's back tracking, Treville picked up the parchment and rolled it up, stuffing it into his jacket.
The man was more concerned with his legacy than the safety of the people.
"Forewarned is forearmed, your Eminence," he said, barely hanging onto his temper.
"Yes, Yes, well, consider me forewarned," Richelieu said, waving his hand and sitting down. Turning his attention back to his paperwork, he was effectively dismissing Treville.
"I will bring you the evidence," Treville said, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the hilt of the sword at his side.
"See that you do," Richelieu replied, without looking up. "Sooner, rather than later."
Treville turned and walked away, anger simmering within him, but he knew that Cardinal Richelieu, First Minister of France and Architect of the Siege of La Rochelle, was shaken.
oOo
"Do you think the Cardinal will tell the King?" Porthos asked, later, as he, Aramis and Athos had once more gathered in Treville's office to hear his feedback.
"Not until we have clear evidence," Treville replied, standing in front of his numerous shelves, "Or I will have to withstand a similar rebuke as I just did from him. The Cardinal is worried, but he knows the King's ways well. Louis will not want to remember La Rochelle. He sees it as a great victory; the Huguenots vanquished and now seeing the true light, under allegiance to him. Richelieu will think on it and when the time is right to bring the King into his confidence, he will portray himself as the true defender of France and the Monarchy."
Silence fell heavily in the room. For the moment, they were in this alone. But when was it any different with Richelieu? Mud sticks, either way.
"Find out what you can," Treville said. "This may be a flash in the pan, but we need more information."
"Simeon," Athos said, quietly, turning to Aramis as they gathered in the yard. "It is time."
Aramis in turn, looked at Porthos.
"I'll ask around," Porthos affirmed."See if I can locate him."
"Be discrete, Porthos," Athos directed. "We do not want to unnerve anyone."
"I think, initially," Athos said to Aramis, "Just you and I should meet him."
"I'll see the lad is kept busy but you know we won't be able to keep too much from 'im," Porthos said.
"I know," Athos replied. "But Simeon does not know him, and it will not do to unnerve him at this stage. Times have changed. We are not on sure ground here."
"We have not seen him in five years, Athos," Aramis said, warily, after Porthos had walked off toward the stables.
"If we cannot find him,"Athos sighed, "I have nothing else. But, he may be aware that The Wolf's name has cropped up once more. He may be easier to find than we think, because of it."
"Yes, but will he help us?"Aramis countered. "We did not cover ourselves in glory at La Rochelle. Richelieu ignored his warnings that the people had little food even before the gates were sealed."
They watched as Porthos walked his horse from the stables and checked her girth before swinging up into the saddle. They dipped heads at each other solemnly as he pulled her head around and cantered through the archway.
"Shall we?" Aramis said, gesturing toward the archway. "We can collect d'Artagnan on the way, his duty at the palace is nearly over. Perhaps we can all haunt a tavern or two in an attempt to pick up local gossip."
"I fear we will need more than local gossip," Athos murmured. Reaching up, he clapped Aramis on the shoulder and together they walked out into the bustling city streets.
To be continued ...