Chapter 9

A few days later, d'Artagnan knit her brows and read the roster for today once again. Actually, as on all the other mornings before, she had expected to find her name assigned at the servant's old entrance and therefore had only taken a quick look at the notice in the guardroom.

Someone stepped beside her and mimicked her disbelieving expression. Slowly she turned her head and her sinister face met the bright disposition of Sorel. He grinned, »Seems we are on sentry duty together.«

»Great.«

D'Artagnan was not in half the bad mood she pretended to be by her grumpy reply and Sorel saw through her with ease. Their joint lunches of the last days had encouraged him not to be put off. Some of his good reputation actually seemed to shine on her, for the secret pranks had abruptly ceased, and so d'Artagnan tolerated him being around. Sorel was genuinely anxious to win her over, taking each brush-off as a new encouragement.

He shrugged. »About time that Jussac suspended your sentence.«

»Or tightened it.« D'Artagnan turned away from the watch list. »To the main gate, at Rue St. Honoré.« The most public post to imagine. The most important one, too, which every guard would be panting for. Where d'Artagnan - and her new uniform - could be admired extensively by every passer-by; Jussac presented her to the crowd.

Sorel followed her on the heels and seemed for both of them buoyant enough to conquer all of Paris. »Only the best are sent to the main gate.«

»Ah, and that's us? The corps must be in terrible shape.«

»Terrible enough to recruit Musketeers,« Sorel agreed with a serious nod.

»Even their officers, to whip the regiment back into line! I am going to teach you all about decent guard duty!«

»That's what Jussac must have thought.«

Perhaps d'Artagnan was mistaken, but Sorel's words seemed to be accompanied by an undertone that was difficult to interpret. As if Jussac has indeed had some ulterior motive in withdrawing her from the lonely post and finally putting her alongside the other guardsmen. She shook off this thought. Her own secretiveness made her suspect intentions where none were.

They soon reached the pompous archway into which the main gate was embedded. It was wide enough to allow a carriage to pass through, and its walls were so solid that it would easily withstand any siege, may it be an attack with cannonballs or a storm with pitchforks and torches. The exterior wall was interrupted by magnificent columns. Two other, smaller arches centred the main gate, so that there was basically not one but three entrances from Rue St Honoré to the forecourt.

The Parisian town gate could have been envious, even though it bore a beautiful coat of arms with the motto Fluctuat nec mergitur. »She is tossed by the waves, but does not sink.«

Richelieu had only placed the plain inscription Palais Cardinal above the entrance to his own residence. This ruled out any confusion with another, no less impressive town palace nearby - if one had actually wanted to go to the Louvre.

They replaced the two guardsmen who had been on duty until then. D'Artagnan ignored the questioning and surprised looks, she now belonged to a group of six men who were responsible for the security at the gates. Two of them at each. It did not seem like numerical superiority. If the palais had been attacked, they would easily have been overrun.

It was all about representation, so they took up their posts to the left and right of the gate. D'Artagnan pulled her feathered hat deep into her face and peered under the brim out into the street. No one seemed to have paid much attention to the changing of the guards, and whether they passed the palace on foot or in a carriage, people were not particularly interested in the uniforms, but took care of their own affairs.

Sorel glanced at her with an understanding look, and d'Artagnan distracted him by asking, »Well? What made you one of the best?«

Sorel ruffled his feathers like a proud Gaul, a rooster in red plumage. It was just an act, playful self-irony. D'Artagnan knew him well enough by now to not misgauge Sorel as a braggart and loudmouth.

»I, Monsieur! I am the best-« Sorel straightened his beret, smoothed out his collar and got ready to tell his greatest heroic deed, »-son,« he ended on a low voice and d'Artagnan raised an eyebrow.

»Nepotism?«

»I can also ride, fence and shoot reasonably acceptable!« Sorel defended himself and d'Artagnan saw no reason to contradict him. She might not have been allowed to take part in the weapon exercises yet, but she had been able to observe the guardsmen. Sorel was more than reasonably acceptable, he was good, very skilled even. Talented. She would have liked to cross blades with him, to test him, to be challenged herself, as she used to do with the recruits of the Musketeers, and she was not sure which one of them both would emerge victorious from a duel. Sorel lacked an opportunity to prove himself.

D'Artagnan almost envied such high-spirited recklessness in wanting to plunge into war and bring home a few scars. Her own wounds have never quite healed and the last few weeks had beaten new ones of a different kind. She blanked out her thoughts with a question asked aloud. »So you're in regiment through intercession?«

»As everyone. We are all the best, recommended sons, and the cardinal does not hesitate to send us into battle.«

»Yes... I know.« D'Artagnan had been there. While the King withheld his Musketeers, Richelieu sent the Red Guard to the front line if the course of the battle demanded it. And there they fought for their lives, not all of them returned and their ranks were restocked with other sons.

»I also arrived in Paris with a letter of recommendation in my pocket,« she told an old lie. She had forged that letter, imitating her father's handwriting, in order to find refuge in Paris with the Musketeers and Tréville. The captain had seen through her right from the start and yet had not sent her back home, for whatever reasons. How ironic that the false letter had fallen into Rochefort's hands at the village of Meung and that d'Artagnan had unwillingly recommended herself to the cardinal as a result! »One day, I had annoyed His Eminence enough to promote me out of sight, out of mind. That is what happens to the best of us.«

»Your lieutenant's commission? Sounds like a reward, not punishment.«

»Neither. It was a reminder that from now on I would be the one responsible, not only for my subordinates, but for my own actions.« D'Artagnan smiled bitterly. »A lieutenant stays in his study and does not thwart political intrigue.«

Sorel did not reply. Over the last few days, he had heard fragments and insinuations from d'Artagnan's past and had very quickly understood that he should not grow deeper into the subject on his own accord. He was interested. Not only because Bernajoux and Biscarat had asked him for an assessment of the musketeer. D'Artagnan had an intriguing story to tell, it was just that one was not allowed to ask about it.

Sorel was convinced, just a little more patience and he could report why this reassignment to the Red Guard had come about and whether d'Artagnan had any hidden intentions in mind. A little longer and he could tell his comrades that behind the bitter words, the dismissive behaviour, there was indeed an honourable character. A few more days and Sorel would have made a new friend. Of that he was sure.

»Will you join us off-duty at the Three Crowns today?« Sorel expected to receive an immediate refusal. D'Artagnan was no one to fraternise lightly with former foes.

She could not be blamed if, after the unfriendly reception in the horse dung, she suspected a trap, a prank, behind every invitation. That is why she surprised Sorel by asking, »What is served?«

At one of the side gates, the guards turned their heads and looked half angry, half unbelieving, but Sorel ignored his comrades. »Anjou wine.«

»Of all things!« It slipped out of d'Artagnan's mouth with a laugh and she waved off before Sorel could wonder. »I'll keep a close eye on the barmaid's hands.«

»Eh? Why?«

»One experience with poisoned Anjou is enough.«

Now it was up to Sorel to stare in disbelief and d'Artagnan had the full attention of the other guardsmen also. »A long story, and not very exciting,« she claimed and congratulated herself on having once again revealed more of herself than she wanted. Sorel had a frank manner about him... He tore down every wall, no matter how high, even the one securing d'Artagnan's heart. Perhaps, out of exhaustion, she no longer resisted him, as would have been wiser, and therefore allowed his approaching friendship.

She pushed back these thoughts before they would have fully come to her. Instead, she sighed exaggeratedly. This old story about Milady would probably haunt her for the rest of her life. »Don't you never, ever dare to anger a woman. Nothing more to be said.«

The guardsmen appeared to disagree and wanted to hear the rest of the story, but they were distracted by a carriage and riding escort that wanted to pass the main gate. Sorel took over the formalities, made sure of the occupants and finally waved the whole lot of them through.

»The Marquise of Saint-Véran,« he explained, »she often frequents the palais.«

»She's familiar.«

»Is she one of those nasty women affairs? With Anjou?«

D'Artagnan gave him a withering look. »No.«

»No?« Sorel grinned. »I will ask my contacts how well-known you are to the marquise.«

»Contacts. Of course.«

»Yes! One of the maids who looks after the marquise's needs at her visits to the palace is my landlady!«

»I see. The 'not that much' loved Elise.«

»It's not like that! Really, she's just a friend.«

»I remember her and your words. Copper-coloured curls, a cute dimple on her chin and anything but skinny at the right parts,« d'Artagnan said casually and apparently more interested in the goings-on at Rue St. Honoré than in the other's liaisons.

»You have seen her?« Sorel asked.

»On my very first day. You have chosen a pretty girl, your comrades must envy you.« D'Artagnan ignored her own envy, the jealous sting in her chest, whose origin she could not quite explain. It was not easy, but it helped her to watch the street and the passers-by.

Over there, on the opposite side of the street in an entrance, was it Pauger?

»A common maid.« D'Artagnan clicked her tongue. »But you accuse me of an affair with a marquise!«

Not for the first time, she continued her masquerade even to this awkward thought and by now she was not even blushing with shame and embarrassment anymore. The lieutenant of the Musketeers was a coveted candidate for many a young dame and on social occasions d'Artagnan had always had to dance with other women. Once this duty was done and she had proved to the world that she knew etiquette and politeness, she withdrew with excuses and kindly rebuffed any further advances. Often enough, she had to stifle her laughter because of the comedy of mistaken identity she was performing. At some point, the Mesdemoiselles had realised that d'Artagnan was not thinking of getting married. Perhaps the lieutenant was not such a good candidate after all because he lacked fortune; in one way or the other.

Rochefort seldom held back from mocking her about this, and teased her amicably. Even Tréville, who for his part was popular with the dames and certainly not averse to them, had once laughingly confessed to almost being jealous. He had not said whether he was jealous of his lieutenant or of the women who swarmed around d'Artagnan, and she had not asked.

D'Artagnan concentrated her attention back on the street. Indeed, there was Pauger. He was looking in her direction and leaning nonchalantly in the house entrance as soon as he was sure that d'Artagnan had noticed him. Pauger obviously was not here by chance.

Sorel was not aware of anything, he admitted, »All right, but Elise is nothing more than my landlady and a friend, she does not care for me in any other way. I accompany her to the palais in the morning and home in the evening.«

»A true cavalier,« d'Artagnan mocked only half-heartedly, while keeping an eye on the situation across the street. Pauger did not come alone. A group of three men appeared near him, whom d'Artagnan recognised as friends of Pauger, all of them musketeers. They talked, laughed, patted each other on the back - and looked at their erstwhile lieutenant.

Pauger's scruffy moustache lifted with a dangerous smile. He turned his gaze, drawing d'Artagnans attention to the fact that more allies were entering the scene at that moment. Five men joined him, brothers in arms who approached the palace with an air of pronounced calm.

D'Artagnan could have called them all by name, enumerated the merits of each of them. They remained peaceful, the provocation consisting solely in the marching-up of old companions. They obviously wanted to show that a betrayal could not remain without consequences.

Sorel now noticed the tense attitude of d'Artagnan and he scrutinised the people on the street closely. By now it was obvious that some of the passers-by had not chosen this place by chance to have a conversation or to admire the beautiful façade of the Palais Cardinal. Pauger left the entrance and at the same moment the other men, with one mind, turned towards the palace. Individually or in small groups, they came closer and did nothing else but talk to each other, joke crudely or just show their presence.

They outnumbered the cardinal's Red Guard three to one and d'Artagnan would almost have laughed. Once, a considerable number of Musketeers had gathered in front of the palace to demonstrate strength and cohesion. Many years ago they had come to d'Artagnan's aid when the cardinal had summoned her and it had been uncertain whether she would be arrested or could leave unhindered.

Now, they turned against her and made quite clear that she no longer belonged to them; she was to be taught a lesson.

The guardsmen watched the crowd sceptically. They did not seem to be sure about whether the men were just provoking or directly seeking trouble. Sorel broke away from his post and stepped next to d'Artagnan, one hand under the tunic. He was grabbing his pistol, but d'Artagnan shook her head. »It is just about me.«

She looked at the other guardsmen. They appeared nervous, but eager to ignore every obvious gesture in their direction, every subtle remark against them.

Sorel slowly lowered his hand and Pauger chose this moment to approach and greet d'Artagnan in the most friendly manner. »Monsieur le lieutenant.«

D'Artagnan nodded slightly. »Pauger.« Any wrong word could lead to a fight in broad daylight. It would not be the first time Musketeers had been killed in the streets of Paris. They would be bemoaned. The cardinal's guardsmen, however, would soon be forgotten. »Do you wish to enter the Palais?«

»Not at all. But it is courtesy to greet an officer.« Pauger emphasised d'Artagnan's rank so clearly that it was obvious to everyone; they knew about the demotion. They wanted to hear it from her own mouth.

»Ah. I suppose Robeaux, Moirod, Leroi and the others thought so as well,« d'Artagnan replied, looking at the men. When they heard their names, the musketeers interrupted their seemingly carefree conversations and saluted the former lieutenant. Jumonville was not with them, was immediately noticeable. That was strange enough, because it was rare to see Pauger without his best friend.

D'Artagnan was unimpressed by the greetings. As yet it remained peaceful between Musketeers and Red Guards, but clearly a quarrel was to be provoked. »Exemplary.«

»Ah, now I understand!« Sorel surprised not only d'Artagnan by interfering. He reached out a hand to Pauger, who took the offer by surprise. Their handshake was tight on both sides, but Sorel smiled friendly. »You are one of the famous Musketeers? Monsieur d'Artagnan has never mentioned you before.«

Pauger was perplexed enough to reply to the subtle insult with nothing more than, »Oh?« A few of his friends mumbled to each other, others frowned. Sorel's hint of how insignificant Pauger must be in d'Artagnan's eyes had been heard by all. But because Pauger did not react in a confident manner, they held back and waited.

Sorel finally released Pauger from his firm handshake. »If we meet next time off-duty, I am eager to hear some old war stories. D'Artagnan always keeps silent, to everyone's regret.« It was made clear in two sentences that d'Artagnan was still loyal to the musketeers and never spoke ill of them. That all accusations and speculations had to be reconsidered.

Pauger retreated and his voice was filled with rage. »Indeed, we should meet after duty hours.«

»I will be there!« - »As will I.« - »Count on me.« - »And me!«

This was not shouted by the musketeers, who followed the exchange of words with growing displeasure and did not seem to know how to react to the offer. The guardsmen had not moved from their posts, had not neglected their duty. But they called out one by one to stand by their comrade. Sorel would never have to fight a duel alone.

Robeaux and Moirod looked at Pauger. It was easy to guess from their faces that his demand for a duel had not been part of their original plan. So that was why the level-headed Jumonville was missing, who would have prevented his friend from seeking vengeance in that way.

Silence spread among the musketeers, who were on the fence to accept the invitation to a duel. Usually, they would immediately jump into a battle and either win the victory or bravely resist until the end. But Sorel made them doubt if they were on the right side with Pauger. Everything now depended on d'Artagnan and it would have been easy to accept the challenge. To risk the lives of good men. For nothing.

»My war stories have been told many times. Repetition will not improve them.«

Pauger was pale with wrath, his intentions were gone, his revenge thwarted, and he emitted a snide snort. »Certainly not. Some other day, Messieurs.«

He retreated, taking his friends with him. One by one, they left the scene and within minutes there was no sign of the war anymore that had almost been declared in front of the palace.

D'Artagnan ran a hand over her face and looked at Sorel, who had risked - for her, for a comrade - a confrontation with an uncertain outcome.

»That was unreasonable, reckless and more than presumptuous!« she reproached him in her best lieutenant's tone, because she had to. Because he was the soldier and she was the officer.

And then she smiled, for the first time in days and barely noticeably. »Well done.«

Sorel was astonished by the rare smile that seemed to change d'Artagnan's face abruptly, making it much gentler, almost... petite. It touched him in a strange manner, in a quite unexpected way which made him grin broadly. »Are we the best?«

»Guess we are.«

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