Chapter 2

Rochefort opened his eyes when, for the first time in hours, he heard a sound other than the occasional melancholy sigh of his cellmate. Something was happening in front of the door to their prison, he heard the rattle of keys and he sat up on the hard cot.

'At last!', was also to be read from Tréville's expression. 'At last' something was happening in this matter, whether it be good or bad; they had not been forgotten here.

There was a loud click in the lock, then the door swung open, revealing at first a guard, fully equipped with helmet, breastplate and pike. In the Bastille, the guards wore colourful plumes, polished and shining armour, as if they were an honour guard to the prisoners rather than a strict watch.

Rochefort got stiff-legged to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tréville's scowl against the guard, who, unimpressed, stepped aside and allowed another person to enter.

Something changed in the captain's face. Tréville's expression showed not only surprise, but also relief, which seemed to alternate with embarrassment. His bad mood of the last few hours brightened, so imperceptibly that only the people most familiar to him would have noticed it.

Like his lieutenant, for instance, who now entered the cell.

D'Artagnan did not seem particularly taken with having to be here. She appeared to feel rather foolish to find her captain and the stable master in the Bastille. Her gaze only fleetingly skimmed the two men to reassure herself of their well-being. Then she turned to the guard and took note of his full armament and suspicious attitude, ready at any moment to stand up to the prisoners with a bare weapon. She frowned.

»That will hardly be necessary.«

»Strictly to rule, Sir!«

»Violate the rule! Or I have to remind myself that your dear cousin has neglected his guard duty for a more amusing occasion.«

The guard angrily swallowed a reply and, for the sake of his dear cousin, backed down. In times like these, when patronage and nepotism flourished, someone was always known to or related to someone and stood up for them, for better or for worse.

The door closed behind the guard moments later and Rochefort shared an amused smirk with d'Artagnan as she turned back. It faded from her lips as her gaze went to Tréville.

The captain was in a grim mood, and covered over any glad relief. »Report!«

D'Artagnan assumed a obedient posture, as if they were not standing in a cell and thus at the end of all hierarchies. »I have been sent from the Louvre. His Majesty wishes to know the reason for this duel.« She eyed the gentlemen less curiously than with concern. The news she brought was not particularly surprising. Unpleasant, certainly. But it seemed to worry d'Artagnan more than the accused themselves. She looked troubled, not just uncomfortable. »I have been unable to obtain an order for your release.«

»Nor was that to be expected of you,« Tréville replied with a strange emphasis that made d'Artagnan blink.

Rochefort guessed correctly that she was not used to such sharp words, such a gratuitous rebuke from her captain's mouth. He interfered, shrugging, »We will exercise patience«, ...and match our stories to each other.

D'Artagnan could easily guess his thoughts. »The king wants to know the true reason.« She hesitated and seemed to struggle with herself before adding, »You will be summoned to the Louvre. His Majesty is very displeased about this incident.«

Tréville seemed to have a sneaking suspicion that she was hiding something and he snarled at her, »Shall our heads roll? Go on, out with it, Lieutenant!«

D'Artagnan flinched almost unnoticeable. »No, certainly not that.«

»But?«

»Nothing more I have to report,« she assured them a little too hastily and let her eyes wander through the cell. »I will instruct the guard to accommodate you properly.«

Rochefort laughed out. »Ah, you will blackmail him!«

»No,« d'Artagnan said between gritted teeth, and added sarcastically, a replica to her captain's harsh words, »I suppose that is to be expected of a lieutenant, to stand up authoritatively to a common guard.«

Tréville remained guiltily silent without letting on and Rochefort felt like laughing at him. But to spare d'Artagnan embarrassment, he refrained from interfering more than he should have in the affairs between a captain and his highly esteemed lieutenant.

Where they would otherwise have said goodbye to each other with a friendly handshake, a brief hug, Rochefort now only nodded to her before d'Artagnan pounded on the door with one fist, more insistently and loudly than necessary. The guard opened and let her out.

Even as the prisoners were locked up again, Rochefort heard, muffled from the corridor, the lieutenant's authority being used.

The king left them to stew for a few more hours before Tréville and Rochefort were taken out of their cell, given the opportunity to make themselves somewhat presentable and then taken straight to the Louvre. They boarded a carriage and thus escaped all too curious glances and the greatest ridicule during the short ride through Paris.

They were united in their story; they would deny any duel and assure Louis only of the greatest friendship between them. It would not be the first political and dishonest brotherly kiss, but who would prove them wrong? Their word and honour against the town guard, who had completely misinterpreted a friendly skirmish at the Carmelite monastery, a private fencing lesson. In the end, it depended solely on His Majesty's whim whether the matter was settled or whether they would have to earn his favour anew.

They had no idea that it had long since ceased to be about them alone, although they both became suspicious when they were brought before the king in the audience hall and found d'Artagnan near to Cardinal Richelieu.

The lieutenant stood a little apart and looked past everyone present with a stiff stare. Neither Rochefort nor Tréville succeeded in making at least brief eye contact with her and thus in finding out in advance whether matters stood reasonably well for the gentlemen; perhaps it was all the worse a sign if even d'Artagnan avoided them.

She probably already saw herself in the position of being the new captain of the musketeers and secretly rejoiced!

Tréville angrily pushed the thought aside. More in a rage at himself that it had even crossed his mind and what insinuations lay in it. The time in prison had given him too much opportunity to brood. About his own stupid mistakes in more ways than one. How disgustingly obvious and affectionate the friendship between Rochefort and d'Artagnan had been made to him in the cell during her short visit, how familiar they were with each other, and how wrong he had been about his own wishes and hopes!

He pushed it far away from him, buried these feelings deeper within by each step to the throne and had completely forgotten about them the moment he bowed to the king.

Rochefort did the same and caught a barely perceptible gesture from the cardinal out of the corner of his eye. It was a placating sign that everything was for the best for the stable master and at the same time an indication that this audience was also a turning point.

Richelieu expected a victory; Rochefort, after all these years in his service, was well able to interpret his master. D'Artagnan was not here as the king's musketeer, not as an intercessor for her superior; she had to be a witness at this trial, and she visibly wished herself to be elsewhere. She stared at the tips of her boots with closed ears, rather than listen now to the explanation of the captain and the stable master.

Both propounded it as agreed and the king listened to them with a o'erclouded brow, without interrogation or reproach. His righteous ire wrapped him in silence, the calm before the storm.

His Majesty was displeased, the lie was too obvious. Any man of honour would have told a story like this. For example, to keep the good name of a woman clean, because of whom a quarrel had been fought. It was a well-known and permitted game, but, unknowingly to Rochefort and Tréville, the rules had changed. They realised it with every word they uttered and still stuck to their excuses.

»So that is how it was, Messieurs?« Louis XIII leaned back on the throne, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly that his knuckles stood out white. »A harmless meeting between friends?«

»Yes, Sire.«

A nearly endless moment passed. Then the king made his judgment. »Well, then. The word of two men of honour We shall not doubt. The incident may be forgotten.«

Louis imperiously beckoned the men to leave, and the gesture clearly spoke of a warning not to come under his eyes again soon. Their punishment; the disfavour of the royal court for a few days or weeks.

Rochefort accepted it, it could also have ended with further imprisonment or straight at the executioner. The punishment hit Tréville, who was far more dependent on the goodwill and opinion of society, harder and yet was no more than a small pinprick that would soon be cured.

Seconds later, the prick turned out to be a stab in the back. Just as the captain of the musketeers was about to bow rudely, blatantly in his foul mood - which of all the courtiers only Tréville dared to do in front of the king - Richelieu interfered and spoke in a silken voice, »Sire, may I remind...«

»We have not forgotten, Eminence!« Louis interrupted him gruffly, displeased at having lost a bet, and he barked at d'Artagnan, »Step forward!«

D'Artagnan abruptly detached herself from her place in the background. With long strides she passed the men who were watching suspiciously. She bent one knee before the king, her head bowed, her hair a dark curtain so that no one could see her face.

Ungraciously, His Majesty laid all the blame on her. »The truth should have been told today. You were hold liable for that with your head!«

»Yes, Sire,« replied d'Artagnan tonelessly, while at her back Tréville froze and Rochefort understood.

»So I shall cut off one head of the Musketeers!«, Louis continued, feeling pleased with himself in the metaphor. He symbolically waved a hand through the air and in the same movement handed the trophy to Richelieu. »A new guardsman for His Eminence.«

»Sire-!« started Tréville in loud protest, and was promptly silenced.

»Our word is law!«, the king thundered against any objection, beckoning d'Artagnan to rise. She did so obediently like a loyal soldier, but with a pale countenance and lowered eyes.

Rochefort was with her at once. He wanted to stand by a friend in a dark hour, but d'Artagnan seemed to misinterpret his gesture completely. She took a step backwards as if to resist being arrested.

Tréville almost intervened, but then remained in place, fists clenched and expression petrified. So that was what d'Artagnan had not told them in the cell. She had known how this audience would end. She had decided, quite deliberately, not to tell them anything and had accepted the punitive reassignment. As if she had wanted it that way, even wished for it!

D'Artagnan obeyed without protest, without a silent plea for help to Tréville, when Richelieu ordered her, »Go, and be present tomorrow morning in my study, punctually, at the start of duty!«

She nodded curtly, turned on her heel and strode out of the hall with her head held high. She marched more stiffly than necessary, hoping that she would be followed, that she would be held back and not be abandoned.

But this fairy tale knew nothing but frogs and no heroes...

Thank you for the interest!
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