Part I - Fighting a Lost Cause

Chapter 1

When d'Artagnan walked through the main gate on this monday in the year of 1635 into the Musketeers' headquarters that morning, she had no idea that it would be her last time as the regiment's lieutenant.

For almost ten years now, Mademoiselle Charlotte de Batz-Castelmore was living in Paris and for seven of those years she served as the valiant Charles Chevalier d'Artagnan in the ranks of the musketeers. Hardly anyone knew the secret of her gender, although various friends and enemies had revealed it over time.

Of her friends, only the Comte de Rochefort remained; Porthos had been the first to leave to marry a rich lawyer's widow. Aramis disappeared one day and was not heard from again until he joined a monastery and became an abbé. Athos was at the lieutenant's side for five more years, always an honourable and reliable friend. Then he inherited and resumed his good name as Comte de la Fère.

Since then, d'Artagnan has made some superficial acquaintances, but no new friends. The risk was too high - although she could not only be sure of the intercession of Captain de Tréville, but also knew that Rochefort, a creature of the Cardinal, was on her side - of coming into contact with people who would have betrayed her secret.

In the regiment she was respected and esteemed a lieutenant by everyone. Charlotte did not aspire to a higher rank, she could already lead a life that would otherwise never have been possible for her as a woman; free from the constraints of social conventions, self-determined and often enough adventurous.

The permanent masquerade could be tiresome; sometimes she felt lonely. Perhaps, at some point, she would follow the example of Athos, Porthos and Aramis and choose a new path. But not yet. Now she was content with her life as an officer in the Royal Musketeers and there was nothing she would rather have exchanged it for.

No one suspected the disaster that was already looming over d'Artagnan, and which had its origins in the very people she trusted the most...

As on any other day, she climbed the stairway to the captain's study to hang out the sentry schedule and receive the orders for the day. The headquarters was as busy as ever. One had to be a pretty woman or an officer to make a way past the soldiers, supplicants, guests and servants. D'Artagnan would never have had to use a dress; everyone got out of the lieutenant's way willingly. She loved this hustle and bustle. Between card games and weapons practice, crude jokes and camaraderie, she has found her place, a family.

As she passed, the musketeers greeted her politely and respectfully. Over the years, d'Artagnan has made a reputation for herself among the men as being no less a good superior than Tréville. She knew how to give reasonable orders, which she would not have shied away from carrying out herself, stood up for the musketeers when there was a duel to answer for, had a sympathetic ear when there was trouble and could assert herself with word and deed if it became necessary.

She was still hot-headed, just as she was loyal. You would never have heard anyone whispering about 'feminine weaknesses' behind closed doors, because d'Artagnan covered up every treacherous temper with gasconian impudence, almost rudeness; besides, she was quite good with the sword, it was better not to challenge her.

When she now entered the study, she was surprised to find Monsieur de Tréville's adjutant Duprés sitting at the desk instead of the captain. He looked up worriedly from a letter in his hands and d'Artagnan instinctively closed the door behind her before anyone in the anteroom could have taken a curious look into the room. She stepped closer and asked, barely louder than the ticking of the grandfather clock, »What happened?«

Duprés pretended to be composed, but there was still dismay in his expression. »Monsieur de Tréville is under arrest.«

»...pardon?«

»Read for yourself.« He passed the letter to a completely perplexed lieutenant. D'Artagnan almost ripped it out of his hand and hastily skimmed the lines. The message was sent directly from the Bastille and contained no more than the terse information that Arnaud Comte du Peyrer, called de Tréville, had been arrested that morning and transferred to prison. He was accused of a forbidden duel.

»What the devil-?! Duprés?«

»I know no more than that, monsieur le lieutenant.«

The adjutant shrugged helplessly. He already served the captain of the musketeers for many years and yes, there had been duels before. Cardinal Richelieu had them banned on pain of death, which did not change much among true men of honour. But imprisonment has never occurred; the town guard discreetly overlooked which disputes were settled and in what manner.

D'Artagnan read the message once more, thoroughly now, looking for an explanation. Why did the guard interfere this time after all? Had Tréville messed with the wrong person? »Is there no hint at all of his adversary? Mordieux, has the captain been wounded? We must see him at once!«

D'Artagnan was about to storm out of the room in dire apprehension, but Duprés held her back. He had expected a heated attitude from the lieutenant, rash reaction. That was how he knew the other officer and today he had to call for reason instead of Tréville.

»You must go to the Louvre, to see His Majesty. I will hold the line here and reassure the Musketeers until this matter is resolved.«

»...yes.« D'Artagnan regained her composure and pushed aside the concern for her captain in favour of a wiser course of action. Tréville himself would also have left immediately for the Louvre to get his musketeers out of custody - and he would have given them a proper telling off later. Or praised them, if the Cardinal's guardsmen had been taught a lesson and the King was secretly proud of them.

»The news will also have reached the palace by now. I shall be on my way without delay.«

»Understood.«

Duprés has hardly finished speaking when d'Artagnan rushed out of the study. The adjutant shook his head and had his own thoughts one the matter before turning his attention to the orders and tasks of the day.

Only once did he hesitate. As he worked through the pile of watch reports from yesterday, he found a note in barely legible handwriting, as if it had been hastily written. Duprés first deciphered the recipient as Chevalier A., then the sender as the Comte de R. and in between the invitation to a rendezvous at the usual time and place.

Duprés raised a brow. Apparently, a personal message to d'Artagnan has got caught between the reports. Perhaps the lieutenant lost it in a hurry or had even used the note as a bookmark and then forgotten about it.

One could have interpreted the request for a meeting as an appointment for a duel - and presumably Tréville had also read the message when he had leafed through the pile of papers...


While d'Artagnan hurried to the Louvre in great worry, the captain of the musketeers stared sullenly down at Paris out of a barred window.

It was a gloomy day, the clouds were grey and heavy in the sky, the night refused to give way. It was not raining, but an unpleasant drizzle lingered in the air, making clothes clammy, creeping into people' bones and making the ramparts of the Bastille shine damply.

Outside the cell door, the guards' footsteps could occasionally be heard. A water jug stood by the cot, a hole on the outside wall was supposed to serve as a privy. A disgusting smell emanated from there.

However, the Bastille was not a dark hellhole; on the contrary, it was considered more of a luxury prison for high-ranking people. And yet it was anything but cosy here and Tréville was far from proud to boast of being important enough to have ended up here.

He had not been handcuffed and was treated reasonably respectfully, commensurate with his rank and status. Almost politely, he had been led to this cell after the formalities in the guardroom were done.

The arrest itself had been less friendly. One moment he was facing his opponent, already slightly out of breath after a fierce exchange of blows, the next they were allies in resisting the town guard.

They had no chance against the superior force and after a humiliating march through the town, the duellists finally found themselves here. Together in this cell. Maybe someone out there was hoping that they would kill each other after all, if they were locked up together.

Of course, the two men did no one that favour! Instead, they had come to terms by choosing their places in the cell separated from each other as much as possible.

His cellmate sat on the wooden cot and watched the captain intently as he now turned away from the window and began a restless walk back and forth with a scowl on his face.

Patience was not a strength of a Gascon temperament, especially as so many things hung in the balance. Was the King already informed of this incident? Could they expect mercy or to be used as a warning example? When would they get out of here and what would happen then?

And yet it was ire more than worry that Tréville felt. Anger at his own stupidity more than at the Comte de Rochefort, who was still watching him from the cot and knew much better how to hide his own thoughts.

It was impossible to tell whether the cardinal's stable master was also angry, or at least annoyed of the situation. He leaned against the wall, not caring that his good clothes got dirty in the process. He acted almost as if it was not the first time he was locked up here and seemed to face the future with some serenity. Rather, he seemed amused to see the captain of the musketeers wandering restlessly through the cell.

When Tréville realised this, he stopped abruptly and stared challengingly at the other. Rochefort seemed to have been waiting to no longer be ignored and asked, »Well?«

»What?!« the captain snapped at him, annoyed at the same moment at not having a better control of himself.

Rochefort remained calm and offered no surface for Tréville to attack. »Since you are responsible for forcing me to spend my precious time with you, I suppose I have a right to know why.«

»Bah!«

Rochefort did not get any more of an answer, instead Tréville turned demonstratively towards the window again and appeared to feel sorry for himself. At least that was how Rochefort interpreted his expression, which alternated between anger and melancholy. The master spy almost wanted to shake his head and to fall back in silence at so much stubbornness but, the heck with it! It was not only Tréville's head that was at stake and Rochefort finally wanted to know what he was supposed to be responsible for!

Yesterday he had received a message by Tréville to meet him the next morning behind the old Carmelite monastery. It was clearly not a friendly invitation to a conversation among old acquaintances, but a demand for a duel. Rochefort had complied, if only to ask what might have gotten into the captain. An answer was yet to be given, for the town guards had arrested them soon enough. For himself, Rochefort summarised the events once more.

»We are accused of a forbidden duel, a fact that can hardly be denied, even if we agree on a different story. Your invitation was unmistakable, but I can think of no reason for it. You will not have been seeking a mere diversion from the humdrum of daily life. Or did you miss sorely the cardinal's attention and wanted to provoke a quarrel?«

Tréville snorted snidely, but his jaws were grinding. Rochefort knew he was not on the right scent. Sheer boredom would hardly have led the captain to such foolishness. What slight had he unknowingly inflicted on Tréville that he was to be beaten up for it? What knowledge did he seem to hold that he was wanted dead for it? He kept poking around, hoping for a lucky hit.

»I was told you have already been in a dreadful mood yesterday.«

Tréville wheeled around angrily. »So, that is what you heard? Did d'Artagnan tell you that, eh?«

»D'Artagnan?«

Slowly, a suspicion began to creep into Rochefort's mind. Indeed, she had been with him in the evening. A friendly visit, as it happened once in almost every week. The cardinal's command to make peace had turned into real trust over time. At one point trust could have turned into something more, but they both found that they were better off as friends and that's about it.

But d'Artagnan spoke to Rochefort more frankly than she would have dared to anyone else, especially after Anne-Louise de Tréville's passing three years ago. He almost asked her yesterday if she knew about Tréville's demand. He had decided against it and, for the sake of their friendship, kept private and official matters separate. Perhaps a mistake.

»What makes you first think that d'Artagnan would tell me that, when there are enough agents around who could share such an open secret with me?«

»I was told that Charl-« Tréville mimicked sarcastically and then hesitated. He glanced at the door, and just in time it occurred to him that they were possibly being overheard, and that some secrets needed to remain a secret. »-d'Artagnan was with you last evening.«

»It seems we are both well informed about each other. Wait! You suspect your brave, faithful lieutenant of gossiping with me about you?«

»Is it like that?«

»Do you think it could be like that?«

Tréville did not respond and that was answer enough. Could Rochefort really have stumbled on the reason for the duel? Poor Charlotte! Apparently she was forbidden to have at least one friend outside the regiment, especially if he was a creature of the cardinal.

»Interesting. What might d'Artagnan have told me of such importance that you would kill me for it? Have you been mentioned at all in my parlour yesterday? Hmm...«

Rochefort tapped his chin and acted as if he were thinking hard. But there was nothing worth remembering. Yesterday they had emptied a bottle of good Malaga, talked about this and that and finished a game of chess from their last meeting. Then they had said goodbye until next week - and yet now a steep wrinkle of anger appeared on Tréville's forehead.

»It would be highly improper if I was the subject of conversation at your private rendezvous.«

»Jealousy?« Rochefort finally understood what had got into the captain and laughed. »How delightful! I should have known sooner, all the signs were there!«

»Don't talk nonsense!« Tréville paled in a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

Watching him writhed like a worm because he was seen through was almost worth be imprisoned. Rochefort waved it off in amusement. »I can be as silent as the dead, even should we escape unscathed after all. Solely to spare a friend the scandal.«

He asked no price for his silence. This knowledge brought neither him nor the cardinal any advantage, and these feelings had never been entirely unsuspected; especially since Anne-Louise de Tréville had left behind a grieving widower as a result of a brief, serious illness.

So Rochefort could have told d'Artagnan a nice story at their next meeting, about being mistaken for a rival; she probably suspected nothing of all this, she had never mentioned anything in this respect, when otherwise she had no secrets from him and would have told such a truth sooner or later, whether completely confused or perhaps even happy.

That she would hear about her captain's jealousy, Tréville seemed to be more afraid of than of the King's verdict and he snapped at the stable master, »Just keep your mouth shut!«

»Of course. But you ensure that we get out of here unharmed.« Whether the captain would take all the blame with an excuse and fall out of favour with His Majesty and his lieutenant was of no interest to Rochefort. He looked towards the cell door. »We've been here too long for my taste.«

»Do you not like this rat hole?«

»Maybe if I were a rat. But even then, there are definitely too many dogs here.«

»Some dogs are not confined to growling when a rat upsets them.«

»Which inevitably leads us to a kennel for the biting mutt. But perhaps his master will get us out soon?«

»He's more likely to come to the unseemly beasts with a club.«

»Then we must hope for the intercession of a heroine.«

»But we must not tell her why we are here.«

»Not a word. We would not want to risk all the men turning out to be frogs right in front of her.«

»Let's stop this.« Tréville turned back to the window and stared out into the unsettled weather.

After a while a absent smile appeared on his lips and Rochefort suspected he had spotted a ray of hope in the dark clouds. A very special one...


In the Louvre, people were already whispering, more or less behind closed doors, about the rumour of a forbidden duel and the resulting arrest. But they fell conspicuously silent when the musketeer lieutenant approached, only to spread the story all the more eagerly as soon as the officer was past the gossipers.

D'Artagnan's jaws were grinding, her expression darkened with every whispered word, every furtive gesture, every chuckle behind her back. When she had left headquarters, she was still half hoping that the matter could be handled discreetly and that the King had not yet heard about it, but now, at the latest, she had been taught otherwise.

While the servants made an effort to see and hear everything, but to keep quiet about it, many aristocrats smiled smugly as soon as they saw the lieutenant. Tréville had no friends here as long as his reputation seemed to be on the wane. Favour and repugnance at royal court changed so quickly, depending on rumour and whim. It was a game no one could escape if they were part of this society.

The looks on the faces of the musketeers on guard at the double doors and staircases, on the other hand, showed no less unease and concern than d'Artagnan's as she hurried to the audience chamber. Her arrival had already been reported to His Majesty and she needed not to ask for an audience; Louis XIII was eager to learn more about the matter - and to express his displeasure that one of the most honourable men of his retinue - the captain of his personal guard at that! - had been arrested.

The double doors to the hall had hardly opened for her when d'Artagnan heard the King's angry voice.

»There you are at last! Come closer!«

Louis was dressed in hunting clothes. He had obviously wanted to pass time and boredom on an excursion before the news had reached him. The fact that he had not dressed appropriately before granting an audience, showed his displeasure all the more. Nor did he sit enthroned on the exalted chair, but stood by in sincere anger, impatiently whipping a riding crop against his boots.

If Louis had just imperiously beckoned to the officer, he now turned his head in another direction. D'Artagnan followed his gaze out of the corner of her eye as she stepped forward, and she was not surprised to see His Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu.

Apparently, the Prime Minister had been summoned from his Palais, straight up from the desk, for his fingertips were still black with ink. He held his hands folded, giving a scene of humility for God and the king; but he stood upright and anything but submissive near the throne.

D'Artagnan hid her thoughts behind a stony countenance. Of course Richelieu was present if the accusation against one of his arrant enemies was being heard.

She was half mistaken, as she learned as soon as she bowed deeply before king and cardinal to satisfy protocol. Louis XIII ignored the gesture and snapped at d'Artagnan and Richelieu alike.

»Messieurs Rochefort and Tréville! In a duel! Those two! It is those two!« he repeated as if in a loss of words, upset and stunned at the same time.

D'Artagnan was utterly perplexed to hear who the opponent of her captain had been - and that Richelieu was by no means celebrating triumph, but instead had to justify himself too.

The king raged on, »Is it not law? Was it not Our Word that forbade duels?«

D'Artagnan wisely kept quiet, lest she should end up saying the wrong thing and make matters much worse. Louis was still too furious to argue against this now, and to declare it all a misunderstanding, as Richelieu had certainly already tried to do in order to protect Rochefort.

Apparently unsuccessfully, for the king now ungraciously judged, »They must be punished!«

So things were even worse than d'Artagnan has expected up to now. She was preparing to object, whether it was wise or not. But Richelieu beat her to it by making a barely perceptible gesture in her direction that she was to remain silent before he himself spoke up to His Majesty with angelic tongues.

»Your word is both law and judgment, Sire. Is it not of interest to know why two otherwise always blameless men of honour should have fought each other?«

The king hesitated, Richelieu seemed to have got through to him and had averted a hasty judgement. Louis wheeled around and pointed an imperious forefinger at d'Artagnan.

»You will go and question these men of honour! You will be liable with your head for a truthful answer by them!«

D'Artagnan froze as if thunderstruck. Precisely because they were men of honour, Rochefort and Tréville would never give the reason for their private quarrel!

By the Devil, Rochefort must have already kept quiet about it yesterday and her captain had seen no reason to made her privy to it either! So the gentlemen would have told an excuse now as well. Only that Louis demanded the lieutenant's head would have forced them to tell the truth, if they cared anything for d'Artagnan.

She clenched her fist behind her back at the inappropriate blackmail that had been spoken in anger. Instead, she bowed her head, to have it have cut off immediately. »Yessire.«

His Majesty still seemed incensed and at the same time pleased to have regained the upper hand. Richelieu knew better. He saw it in d'Artagnan's expression and he heard it from her answer pressed out between her teeth; she would never bow to blackmail, would rather have her head cut off than betray her captain or threaten a friend like Rochefort.

That was why he said, »Liable with the head, Sire? What a waste on a good officer!«

Louis was taken aback by the objections. But since they were made by Richelieu, he listened to them and frowned. He looked at d'Artagnan and only now did it seem to dawn on him whose life he was putting at risk for no reason.

He chewed on his beard as he realised the consequences and resented having made a mistake and not being able to take it back because of royal infallibility. The lieutenant of the musketeers, although he did not know of her real gender, had become dear to him over the years, no less than Tréville himself, whom he wanted to punish but not condemn to death, as the law provided. All the more gratefully he grasped the saving hand that his Prime Minister, his supreme advisor, now offered him.

Richelieu smiled narrowly and this sent a cold shiver down d'Artagnan's spine even before the cardinal had voiced his suggestion aloud. »You are figuratively demanding the lieutenant's head. I understand, Sire. What a brilliant idea!«

The king blinked. »Certainly?«

»If you wish to shorten the musketeers by a head as punishment, I will take it. Allow me to have d'Artagnan serve in my red guard should the lieutenant fail to learn the true circumstances.«

»Monseigneur!« d'Artagnan exclaimed, turning pale at the half bet between king and cardinal.

But Louis XIII was quite taken with this turn of events, with his ostensibly own idea. He smiled broadly and mischievously like a child, a rascal who had nothing but nonsense in his head.

»Granted!«

D'Artagnan had no doubt that Richelieu gratefully seized this opportunity to deal Tréville a much heavier blow than a few days' imprisonment and the king's displeasure could ever have done.

Whatever the outcome, this time the cardinal would win...

tbc


The Secret Lily is available as an E-book!

ISBN English: 9783756525409

ISBN German: 9783756525386

Unfortunately, I cannot insert direct links to bookshops like Amazon here. But if you are interested, you should be able to find the book by searching for "M. von Strom, The Secret Lily" or "Maren von Strom, Die geheime Lilie". :)