Chapter 7

D'Artagnan was left completely abandoned in the backyard of the stables. She bent down for the handkerchief and silently agreed to Biscarat. It was now for her to choose what her future life as a guardsman would be like after this warm welcome; and she had to make this decision now, which would determine everything else.

She decided to attend the morning roll call belated. She had to clean herself up and get a fresh uniform, remove all traces of this incident as good as possible. The stench would inhere to her for the rest of the day, too intense to pin it on a horseback ride alone. Jussac would certainly not be deceived by this, but d'Artagnan had to bear the wrath of her new superior alone. This was the best choice she could make; she alone should bear the blame for the delay and not lose a single word about the bath in the dung. Denounce the comrades? Taboo!

She wiped herself with Biscarat's handkerchief and got rid of the uniform. It was not difficult to find a bucket of water in the stables and to wash herself fairly thoroughly. She could not change trousers, shirt and doublet, she only wiped off the coarsest dirt. By the time d'Artagnan had visited the armourer again and, without having to explain, was given a second tunic, her clothes were still stained but dry.

It was no surprise to d'Artagnan that the armourer did not ask her any questions or give her strict warnings. She was not the first recruit to be baptised. She might have been the first to be put in a really unpleasant situation, but the thrashing was not up to the armourer; that was left to the officers.

The roll call was in full spate when d'Artagnan reached the courtyard. The men stood in line, disciplined and ready for action. They were completely gathered - except for a striking gap between Sorel and Cahusac in the back row. Jussac had planted himself in front of the men and seemed to have missed the gap entirely; everyone knew that he has noticed it all too well. D'Artagnan sighed inaudibly and crept to her spot, while Jussac took the guardsmen's announcements and news if there was anything to report.

Sorel glanced sideways at d'Artagnan as she slipped next to him. She did not quite know how to interpret the disappointment in his gaze. Was it directed at her tardiness or at his comrades for their prank?

Cahusac stubbornly looked ahead and was probably the only one among the guardsmen in the immediate vicinity who did not react in any way to d'Artagnan's appearance. The agitation was subtle, but it was there and it now forced Jussac to cut the issue of orders.

»Soldier!«

D'Artagnan recoiled when the lieutenant suddenly shouted in her direction. She immediately regained her composure and stood at attention. »Yes, Sir!«

»Step forward!« Jussac waited with terrible anger in his face until d'Artagnan has marched to him. The eyes of the entire troop clung to her back. She faced the rebuke calmly that inevitably had to follow, but avoided to stare directly into the lieutenant's eyes. One of their usual silent duels would only have gotten her deeper into hot water.

Jussac reached out a demanding hand. »Equipment!«

D'Artagnan presented her musket and Jussac took it, checked the barrel and generally the condition of the weapon for corrosion, whether it had been thoroughly cleaned. The inspection was short but rigorous and the lieutenant found nothing to complain about. He returned the musket, followed by the pistol, the gunpowder and the bullets. Everything was complete and in perfect shape, just like the epee and the dagger. With full intention, Jussac seemed to ignore d'Artagnan's smell and dirty clothes as long as the uniform itself was clean enough. The weapons' inspection was a diversionary tactic to avoid having to punish the entire troop for the obvious prank.

»Is the morning roll call disturbing your beauty sleep, Soldier?« Jussac could roar quite impressively, especially when he only kept distance as wide as a finger from the delinquent. »Should we reschedule it half an hour later, so Monsieur has plenty of time for his manicure?«

»No, Sir!«

»No, he says! No? Yet I would be so delighted if you were on time for roll call! I like being delighted! In fact, I damn well like it! Do you want me to feel miserable? Shall I cry my heart out for you like a girl?«

»No, Sir!«

»So do you need an additional invitation then? With a perfumed letter on your pillow? Delivered by me personally with a kind request? Oh, please, please honour us at morning roll call!« Jussac finally took a step back and left her some space for breathing again. »Explain yourself!«

That was the moment when d'Artagnan had to prove her attitude. Bernajoux and Biscarat certainly listened attentively, as did the other guardsmen. Could she keep her mouth shut?

»I lost my way, monsieur le lieutenant.« That excuse was as believable as any. Perhaps d'Artagnan had just spent too much time knocking her equipment in shape or she had a chat with a pretty chambermaid. It did not matter what she answered - as long as it had nothing to do with horse manure.

»Ah, then it will suffice to take you by the hand and to escort you personally to the courtyard. By God, can you find your way to your dressing table in the morning without a map?«

That was no doubt an allusion to her special eau de toilette. D'Artagnan thought the repeated doubts about her manliness sadly amusing, but getting the joke was up to her alone. At least Jussac, after love letters and hand-holding, did not also ask whether she might want to share his bed and therefore do anything foolish just to gain Jussac's undivided attention. She was not sure whether she would then have been able to control herself or would have reminded him kindly of his wife, Gabrielle de Jussac, who would not give up her husband without a fight.

D'Artagnan did not have to endure any further insults. Maybe Jussac run out of ammunition or he had lost the desire to deal with the alleged slacker even further. »Double guard duty for you!« He brusquely turned away and shouted, »Dismissed!« to the rest of the guardsmen.

A salute was given in unison, and d'Artagnan did the same. She had gotten off pretty lightly with her punishment. If that did not surprise her enough, it was Jussac's words, hissed between his teeth, with which he dismissed her. »You will fit in.«

D'Artagnan heard that in surprise. Not only had Jussac almost mildly lambasted her off, he also seemed to be concerned to have the old antagonist join the troop more or less smoothly. It would have been all too easy for him to throw d'Artagnan to the wolves by ordering the entire regiment to do double duty and punishing them all for the misconduct of one soldier. Jussac had decided not to do so, and hereby has made a choice on his part.

D'Artagnan no longer pondered Jussac's motives and turned to her new duties. Fitting... Tush! This was good advice and not only for the sake of her mission to continue to take the blame instead of Rochefort and Tréville, but also for her own protection. Up to now, however, it was the Red Guard itself who refused her. How eagerly, gleefully, the men have followed the punishment sermon earlier, so suddenly they seemed to lose all interest in the new recruit. They dispersed and no one made eye contact as d'Artagnan looked around searchingly.

Hell, there must have been someone she could ask where she could find the guard schedule and her assigned post! But even Sorel, accompanied by Cahusac, was walking from the courtyard. Perhaps he has realised that he would be better advised to quit acting as a nanny.

Suddenly, d'Artagnan was all alone again. The guardsmen could form a frightening unit if they wanted to. It seemed as if everyone understood to not get involved with the former lieutenant of the Musketeers.

She drew her lips to a bitter smile. She could not even blame her 'comrades'. A guardsman among musketeers would hardly have fared any differently. But she was not someone who gave up easily! Someone had to give the recruit a proper briefing, and since there was no ensign for d'Artagnan to turn to, there was only Jussac to do it. Poor Jussac.

Grimly determined, d'Artagnan marched back to the guardroom. She might not find the lieutenant there, but she could get hold of any other guard and ask him. They could not be so foolish as to ignore the unbeloved musketeer even to the point of completely misjudging a post and endangering the cardinal's safety.

She bumped into Bernajoux of all people. He leaned relaxed against the door frame of the guardroom as if it belonged to him. He gave up his comfortable position when he noticed d'Artagnan and instead watched her with open hostility. D'Artagnan suspected that she would not easily get past this gatekeeper. Well, then Bernajoux was to give her information! »I need to-«

»Get lost!«

»Not until you answered one or two questions.« As the mirror image of Bernajoux, d'Artagnan crossed her arms and stretched forward her chin in a belligerent manner. Bernajoux reacted by adopting a particularly calm posture and leaning against the door frame again. »Do not feel like it.«

»Where is Jussac?« D'Artagnan did not even receive an indifferent shrug in reply, Bernajoux stubbornly ignored her. He forgot that she was much more stubborn. »The guard schedule?«

Silence.

»My post? Times? Locations?«

Bernajoux finally lost that duel. Visibly annoyed, he deigned to snarl at the former musketeer, »Deaf? I do not feel like answering your questions.«

D'Artagnan saved herself a triumphant smile. So far, she won only the first round, but has not achieved anything yet. »I would not have to ask if the little incident in the stables had not impeded me.«

Now Bernajoux had fallen into the trap, apparently, he did not like the remark at all. With a threatening undertone he said, »We do not like blatheres here...«

D'Artagnan pointed at her tidy tunic. »I am obviously wearing a fresh uniform, the matter is cleared up for good. But if you will not let me pass through to Jussac or answer my questions yourself, I have no choice but to talk to Captain de Luchaire and ask him unnecessary questions. I do not want to bother him with this, especially since Jussac will get in trouble for it.«

Bernajoux stared at her in rage. Simultaneously, he seemed to start thinking behind his scarred forehead. D'Artagnan's words were no extortion, but fact. If no one spoke to her, all that remained was to walk to the superior authority. Luchaire would not be pleased about this kind of disorder in the regiment and certainly hold his lieutenant responsible for it. D'Artagnan, in a similar situation, would also have received more than just a wry glance by Tréville.

Bernajoux seemed to understand this and finally growled reluctantly, »Ask!«

»Where can I find the lieutenant? Or someone who can explain to me in more detail how things work at the Palais?«

»I'll take care of that.«

That was good enough for d'Artagnan. In fact, she rather dealt with Bernajoux and his ilk than with Jussac. In the end, the lieutenant might have changed the double shift to two days arrest if d'Artagnan had once again confronted him with such a trivial request.

Bernajoux was an astonishingly good teacher, because in his lazy mouth manner he explained everything concisely and therefore very clearly. Within a few minutes d'Artagnan knew where the schedule list was displayed - in the guard room - and where she could see the corresponding post plan. Her first watch would last four hours, followed by an hour's break for lunch and an interim report, and then she was to take up her post for another four hours. If she did not have double guard duty, d'Artagnan would otherwise have been assigned to a patrol or called out for weapons exercise, unless there were other orders. Her duty would end when the relief arrived.

The former lieutenant of the Musketeers was very familiar with all of this. Bernajoux seemed to be able to interpret d'Artagnan's half-wistful smile perfectly and he ended his explanation with a snort. »That's it.«

»Thank you.« D'Artagnan wanted to pass Bernajoux with a polite nod to finally have a look at this guard list. A heavy hand on her shoulder detained her.

»Stop!« Bernajoux was a bulwark, and apparently he stood between Jussac and any trouble that might come across him. No doubt the lieutenant was in the guardroom and did not want to be disturbed.

D'Artagnan slowly lowered her eyes to the hand on her shoulder. She might be slender in stature, rather gaunt and physically inferior to the men. But she did not yet completely abandon her status as an officer and had already been pushed around far too often today to tolerate any further disrespect.

Just as slowly Bernajoux removed his hand and muttered, »Don't go in there, I lead you to the post.«

»Good.« Satisfied that she had not completely lost her authority and drawn a line in the sand, d'Artagnan resigned and let herself be led the way. She may have confused and reprimanded Bernajoux for a moment, but soon she could no longer claim her old rank.

That she was at the very end of the hierarchy became clear to her once more when they reached their destination; a completely insignificant, tiny side door leading out to the Rue de Valois, firmly locked, the wood almost turned to stone and speckled with moss. No one had entered or left here for ages, not even the slightest of servants. The door was so low that at most a child could pass through it walking upright.

Bernajoux twisted the corners of his mouth to a disturbingly crooked smile. But he was not to blame for his face and answered an unasked question in a conspicuously friendly manner. »Beginner's post.«

»I see.« Without letting her thoughts be known, d'Artagnan took up her post with such dignity as if she had been entrusted with the guard over the cardinal's bedchamber. And over the king's throne room as well. Alas, all of France!

For a moment, Bernajoux seemed impressed, or at least amused. Immediately afterwards, however, he frowned, whether because of d'Artagnan or himself, it was impossible to tell. He grumbled, »On the stroke in four hours,« before he left.

D'Artagnan maintained her proud composure until Bernajoux was out of sight. Only then did she slump down a bit and mumbled curses coming deep from her heart.

Being banished to a completely insignificant post was more than just tiring. Not only did d'Artagnan's boredom gnaw at her, but her own circling thoughts hauled at her morale.

She has expected this difficult beginning as a Red Guard, but she has also believed to be prepared for it. While she stood at this old, long forgotten side door, her legs tired from standing for hours and there was nothing to distract at least the eye, she realised that absolutely nothing could have prepared her for such a situation.

Perhaps she had felt lonely on some evenings in the past, when she sat alone in a tavern, where otherwise Athos would have given her a lot of support to empty a bottle of wine. But the next morning, the lieutenant of the Musketeers had another day full of official duties, over which she forgot the loss of her old companions. She had the respect of her subordinates, even if as an officer - and as a woman - she could not freely banter and quarrel with them. With her captain, she maintained a relationship of mutual respect and utmost trust.

Perhaps, if rank differences and chains of command had not always stood between them, she would also have called Tréville a precious friend. Similar to Rochefort, who has not yet shown his face again, not even to tease her. Perhaps it was only wise of him not to come under d'Artagnan's eye any time soon. At least she hoped she has not lost him too.

D'Artagnan shifted her weight to the other leg, thus providing some relief. She had not been standing motionless in one spot for a damn long time and had not believed that this endurance could be unlearned again. Only once during her sentry duty was she distracted from her sad thoughts. A young woman caught her eye, a maid judging by her clothes. Copper-coloured hair, braided in a loose plait. A barely noticeable smile was on her lips, her gaze seemed dreamy, her gait was light as a feather.

She was pretty, about twenty years old, and d'Artagnan wondered mockingly what beautiful thoughts she might be thinking. A few pigeons sprang up in fright as the maid passed and she paused to watch the birds. She seemed quite light-hearted, the lively opposite of the sad, lonely d'Artagnan.

Now the maid stopped and raised an arm to wave. It was directed to Sorel, who appeared between the columns of the lower gallery. He waved back and the maid hurried to reach him quickly. They greeted each other reservedly with quiet words. They were well aware of the public and did not want to appear too familiar. Sorel finally offered her his arm politely, she accepted and disappeared into the palais together with him.

D'Artagnan watched them leave, not understanding her own feelings, the envious, almost jealous twinge in her breast because she has observed a confidential moment between a couple that was always denied to herself. She almost missed the chime that finally signalled the end of the first watch. Four hours has passed. Only four hours, but a perceived endlessness.

Of course, no one came to relieve her. Bernajoux, however, with his explanations of the procedure, had given her half permission to leave the post for a short report and a meal. It was good to be able to stretch her legs and relax her tense shoulders during the few steps to the guardroom. Besides the servants and visitors of the palace, she met other guardsmen on the way. Strangely enough, they always seemed to be engrossed in conversation as soon as she approached, so that they would not have noticed a greeting from the new comrade. Others did not even bother, but ignored her unmistakably.

This time, no one at the door stopped her from entering. The guardroom was well attended, d'Artagnan estimated about a third of the regiment was present. The men enjoyed their rest with card and dice games, boasted anecdotes to each other or ate bread with soup. The room could almost have been mistaken for a tavern had it not been for the arsenal and the red uniforms that dominated the scene. It happened to be loud, but not undisciplined. D'Artagnan was sure that at a single word from their lieutenant, the guardsmen would have moved out immediately in a closed row, without the need for many commands to keep order.

D'Artagnan made her way to the fireplace, where she could help herself to the soup from a heavy cast-iron pot. The rations were not exceptional. Tomorrow there was perhaps only porridge with a few scraps of meat. The guardsmen were not more spoiled than other soldiers. She took a ladle full and some bread and looked around for a place to sit. None of the tables were fully occupied and yet she hesitated before he made an effort and walked to a bench that had already been taken by some other guardsmen.

Perhaps it would have been a wiser idea, also because of her well-kept secret, to seclude herself completely, to make herself as invisible as possible, like an intruder. But Jussac has demanded that she fit in and d'Artagnan had no intention of making her life unnecessarily difficult by deliberately provoking the lieutenant. If she had noticed Bernajoux or Biscarat somewhere, she would even have gone to them briskly to show that she would not be chased away so easily.

The group she now decided to join interrupted their conversation when she sat down at the edge. They measured her partly with sceptical looks, partly with open rejection. In any case, no one returned her greeting, not to mention at least a polite nod.

Among the guardsmen was the taciturn Cahusac. As the longest-serving man, the others seemed to wait for his reaction. D'Artagnan noticed the scar on Cahusac's throat all the more distinctly in this moment of tense silence. She probably should have chosen another table.

Cahusac frowned, but then turned back to the comrade sitting opposite and signalled to continue with his interrupted story. It was not that Cahusac tolerated the former musketeer in their group. Rather, he seemed to have decided to overlook her like an insignificant bug and only crush her under his boot when she was about to become an annoyance. The other guardsmen also lost all interest and d'Artagnan did well to simply eat her meal in silence and neither join in the conversation nor even listen to it.

In order not to feel so stupid, d'Artagnan used feather and paper and scribbled down her watch report with almost illegible officer's handwriting. As if there had been something to report! But she could at least pretend to be busy to spare herself and the other guardsmen further embarrassment.

She ended her break prematurely, handed in the report and left the guardroom. In front of the door she pulled herself together. Probably at no other table she would have been treated differently then as by Cahusac's and his friends. More evidence that she faced a difficult situation and that she was a persona non grata was hardly needed.

At least she could be sure that her masquerade would not be seen through by even the most suspicious, penetrating, hostile and yet blind glances.

D'Artagnan spent the rest of the break strolling back to her post. She knew the Palais Cardinal well enough to avoid having to familiarise herself with every corridor on the first day. Soon she reached the old side entrance again and looked thoughtfully at the half petrified door. She still had a few minutes left before the tolling of the bells for middle watch. Time that she wanted to spend outside these walls more than ever before.

D'Artagnan released the latch and pushed the door open. It offered resistance, squeaked and creaked on its hinges. It took a fair amount of force to push the door open far enough for d'Artagnan to slip out. No one had taken this route out of the palace before her for a very long time indeed. Even from the street, the door gave no impression other than that of being ancient and unimportant. On the ground, d'Artagnan could see drag marks that she herself had left there when she opened the door. Little stones had been pressed into the ground and d'Artagnan wiped the furrows with the sole of her boot without any deeper intention.

»Monsieur le lieutenant?«

D'Artagnan looked up in surprise. No less surprised seemed the two men who had stopped a few steps away from her on the Rue de Valois. Their expressions spoke of incredulous astonishment and d'Artagnan resisted the urge to flee back into the palace. Instead, she acted as if she was all serene and greeted the musketeers with a nod. »Pauger. Jumonville.«

The two looked indecisive, overwhelmed by the situation. The sight of d'Artagnan in the red uniform of the Cardinal's Guard caused them to be taken aback - and then made them angry.

Pauger felt confirmed in a nasty suspicion, he had unjustly scolded his servant, who had already told him this shamefulness the previous evening. He snorted snidely, his bushy moustache trembling with wrath and contempt. Jumonville, however, approached hesitantly, ready to listen to an explanation. »It is really you.«

D'Artagnan heard the unspoken question clearly. How could it be her? In that uniform? A bad joke! She nodded curtly. »Are you two on patrol?«

Jumonville didn't seem to know how to react to this astonishing news. The easily to irritate Pauger, on the other hand, immediately growled, »Yes. We are on duty in the king's service.«

»Then I suggest you do not disappoint His Majesty«, d'Artagnan replied roughly. »As you were!«

Pauger's expression darkened even more, so that his bulbous, pockmarked nose stood out white and made him very unattractive. To see his lieutenant suddenly in the service of the cardinal seemed a personal insult that made him clench his fists.

Jumonville prudently intervened. He was in all things the opposite of his friend. Where Pauger's head was crowned with black curls, Jumonville's hair fell blond to his shoulders. Where Pauger boasted old war scars, Jumonville was unscathed. Where one liked to indulge in wine too often, the other was reserved and partied less so that he could take his friend back home after a jolly night. Now Jumonville put a hand on Pauger's arm in a placating manner. »Yes, that will be best. Come, my friend.«

Pauger shook off the hand. D'Artagnan unconsciously took a firmer stance, but Pauger turned away abruptly and said aloud to Jumonville, »He stinks of shit,« before he strode back to the street.

Jumonville looked alarmed at d'Artagnan, for normally such a remark against the lieutenant of the Musketeers would have resulted in a deadly duel appointment. But d'Artagnan tiredly waved it off, already exhausted by the battles that might lie in wait for her in the future. »Catch up with him, before he runs blind with rage into a carriage.«

»Yes, Sir!«

Jumonville saluted in old habit, although he has not received an order, eliciting a fast fading smile from d'Artagnan. She almost wanted to stop him, to ask him how things were at headquarters. Had her absence been noticed? Obviously they were unaware of her reassignment up to now, and therefore also did not know that the king ordered it. Good, then no one knew about the duel either, her mission had been successful so far.

How was Tréville? Although he seemed to ignore her, had he done anything to get his lieutenant back? Or was he incredibly angry with her and banished her from his mind with all his might? She kept the gnawing, painful questions to herself so as not to be further hurt by an honest answer.

Jumonville hesitated, as if he still had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue. In the end, he seemed to be contented with the most important one. »There is a good reason for this, is it not?«

D'Artagnan, after a terrible day so far, was not in the mood for explanations and certainly not for justifications towards former subordinates. That would have been Tréville's responsibility, not hers! She was a Red Guard now, she seemed to have betrayed and abandoned everyone, all of her old friends and comrades. Could there ever be a good reason for this?

»Go away already!« she shouted at Jumonville and fled back into the palace. She pulled the door shut behind her and locked it, but could not shut out Pauger's angry disappointment or Jumonville's incredulous confusion from her thoughts by this. She hit the wall with a clenched fist because there was no one else around who deserved a beating except herself for her inability to keep her true feelings under control, to hide them from the world and from herself. The wall remained unimpressed, but the pain crept up d'Artagnan's arm and into her shoulder.

»Hotheaded as a Gascon, they say.«

D'Artagnan gritted her teeth and tried to maintain a relaxed posture before slowly turning around. She opened and closed her hand several times until her fingers were no longer numb. »You must know best, Biscarat. What do you want?«

»I check on the sentries.« The other Gascon pretended to be listening and the guard bell chimed at that very moment. Biscarat's inquiring gaze fell back on d'Artagnan. »Just in time.«

»How long have you been standing here waiting for me to neglect my duties?«

»You are remarkably full of yourself. No one has been waiting for you.«

»Quite possibly, but I am here now and you will have to come to terms with that.« D'Artagnan reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the handkerchief with which she has cleaned herself. She had washed it out, but it was still stained and smelled of horse dung. »My sincerest thanks.«

»Keep it, you might need it again.«

D'Artagnan ignored the ridicule. »That is up to you. I have made my choice. Is that not what you told me?«

Biscarat scrutinised her out of dark, intelligent eyes. He must had some experience in seeing through people and was also able to read the former musketeer. That could become a problem and d'Artagnan avoided all the more shy his inquiring gaze so as not to reveal any telltale truths by a blink. Biscarat seemed to have his own thoughts about that, might have considered her a coward or arrogant, and he asked straightforwardly, »You really choose to be one of us, one of the Red Guards? Then why did Richelieu strip you off the officer's commission?«

»I am a probationary guardsman, but I shall fit in.«

»Is that so?«

D'Artagnan was defiantly silent, what else could she answer? It was astonishing enough that Biscarat asked her about her motives, but she could not reveal them to him without stabbing her captain and Rochefort in the back. And openly accuse the king and cardinal? She was certainly not stupid enough to dare that, no matter how angry or desperate she might be!

Finally, Biscarat reached out his hand. »Return it then!« He received the handkerchief, grimaced in disgust and stuffed it into his own coat pocket, undoubtedly to dispose of it later. »Do not misinterpret the gesture! I don't think you will be able to truly fit in.«

»You would be surprised what I'm capable of. Given that I get the chance.«

»You have been baptised and the joke about guarding this forgotten entrance never gets old. Until now, you have not gone through anything that would not happen to every new recruit.«

»Certainly. Except for the minor bagatelle of almost missing the morning roll call and be threatened to receive love letters from Jussac. Afterwards Bernajoux told me everything I needed to know about duty.«

»Good ol' Bernajoux! He visited me subsequently and drew my attention to an interesting point.« Biscarat pretended to be struggling to remember and finally quoted, imitating d'Artagnan - not at all badly in a voice that was deliberately too high, »I do not want to bother the captain with this, especially since Jussac will get in trouble for it.«

»And?«

»And we decided, for the sake of our friend Jussac, to leave you in peace.«

»Oh, no! My heart is overjoyed! Here, touch my chest!«

»Save your sarcasm,« Biscarat sharply replied, and d'Artagnan was glad that he did not follow up her ill-considered invitation with action. »Unfortunately, it is inevitable that you are not going to live among us in complete isolation. You are on probation in the Guard - and we will keep an eye on you.«

»I'm touched by how important you seem to think I am.« D'Artagnan wiped a feigned tear from the corner of her eye. »I like to be good and obedient of my own free will and cause no trouble.«

»You bring the trouble along anyway.« Biscarat glanced over her shoulder towards the door. The brief, unpleasant encounter between three musketeers had obviously not escaped his notice.

D'Artagnan remained silent. Sooner or later, her change of troops would have become known. For some, like Pauger, she was branded a traitor, for others, like Jumonville, the situation was still incomprehensible. It meant trouble in every direction, especially since no one here would be watching her back.

Even Biscarat made no secret of it. »You will not easily convince anyone that you would have pledged allegiance to the cardinal.«

»Just leave me alone, as promised...«

»Truce, for now.« Biscarat nodded. »You may leave in four hours.« Thus he finally left the hapless recruit to her own devices and another tiring guard duty.

D'Artagnan tried not to brood again. But the day had already held too many perils to simply push aside any thoughts about what was and what might become.

So the guardsmen wanted to keep an eye on her? That meant double vigilance, not only to guard her own identity but also to keep the news of the duel secret. Apparently the guardsmen did not know what had really led to d'Artagnan's reassignment - and neither did the musketeers. Tréville and Rochefort must have been at odds over a matter that even the cardinal wanted kept quiet. So d'Artagnan did well not to let on and to stand her ground. If anyone asked, she would have to claim that she had received an irresistible offer from Richelieu without specifying it.

At the end of her thoughts, the mist rose again from the Seine, while the sun still brushed a pointed roof with its last ounce of strength before it set. The bell chimed, guard duty was over. D'Artagnan left the palace heavy-legged and in a depressed mood, without anyone saying goodbye to her for a better next day. She found herself looking left and right more often than usual on her way back home to avoid random passers-by. She wanted to prevent further encounters with people who must have felt betrayed by her and whose respect she has lost.

At home, her landlady, the dear Madeleine, already had the bath tub in place for her. Madeleine was quite rightly sulking when her friend expelled her from her rooms with gruff words and without any explanation.

The red tunic of the Cardinal's Guard ended up on a chair and d'Artagnan, exhausted in body and soul, in bed.