FIVE
Upon reaching the bridge that spanned the river, D'Artagnan stood quietly for several moments gazing at the slow moving water that shimmered in the morning sunlight as it passed over the rocks and flowed beneath the bridge. A light breeze stirred his hair and rippled the full sleeves of his white shirt. Of every possible strategy that Aramis could have devised, he never had reason to even consider the possibility that Anne had given birth to twin sons, and that he would propose placing Louis' brother on the throne in his place.
Twins!
The very word inspired a fresh burning of tears behind his eyes. That for years, Anne had believed the second twin had died at birth cushioned the blow of his own unawareness, but later, when she had learned the truth, why hadn't she revealed to him that there was another son? Why had she chosen to suffer in silence with the knowledge that her innocent child was languishing behind bars, his face cruelly concealed within an iron mask? How could Louis have committed such a vile act against his own brother?
A feeling of intense helplessness and betrayal surged through him that Anne had not disclosed the existence of her other son. Damn it! I had a right to know! he thought, bitterly, brushing a fresh flow of tears from his cheek with his hand. How could you have kept this from me?
As his initial surge of resentment subsided, his love for her began to push back those feelings of deception, and he tried to gain an understanding of the situation from her perspective, for he knew her well enough to know that she had not withheld the information out of unkindness. It could not have been easy for her, he realized, to keep this terrible secret tucked away in her heart. She would have had reasons that she felt were valid, and he searched his heart and mind for what that reason might have been.
Over the years, he had occasionally seen her at her window observing him as he went about his daily activities. They had never acknowledged one another; never offered a wave or even a smile, for the eyes of others were almost always upon them. By then, she had become a recluse, rarely venturing outside her apartments except to take her daily walk to the chapel. His rare encounters with her had been brief, and she had only spoken a few formal words to him, always keeping her eyes averted.
And then, only a few nights ago, he had followed her into the chapel, and had been caught completely off guard when she had flung herself into his arms, clinging to him desperately as she wept on his shoulder from some unknown heartache that she had refused to reveal. The embrace had led to a kiss and the confession of love that had endured throughout their years of separation. Yet even then, she had not unburdened her heart of her lost son.
Perhaps she had longed to tell him the truth, but could not find the words to do so. Or perhaps she feared that he might confront Louis, demanding the release of the twin, and a Pandora's Box would have been set loose upon the land. For whatever reason, in the end, believing that her son was beyond help from either of them, she had chosen to suffer in silence rather than risk the ramifications of bringing the truth into the open.
With conflicting emotions warring inside him, he sat down on the stone wall, tucking one leg beneath him and resting his elbow on his knee. His head was bowed, staring at the rock and mortar wall on which he was seated, as he struggled to come to terms with everything he had just learned.
It was easy enough now to assume that Louis' twin brother was the person who had been watching from the window. Soon, Aramis would introduce him to this twin, this younger son of Anne who had seen so much abuse in his young lifetime, but it was a meeting he anticipated with both eagerness and unease.
So deep was he in thought that he did not notice Athos, Porthos, and Aramis when they walked up the road about fifteen minutes later and stopped before him. For a moment, they shifted uneasily, hesitating to disturb him, and waited for him to notice them, but for the first time ever, he remained unaware of their presence, indication in itself of how deeply affected he was by the revelation of the twins.
"D'Artagnan?"
He looked up in surprise when Aramis finally spoke his name, and his exhale was barely audible. He had known that in time they would seek him out for answers to the questions that had been generated by his tearful exit from the house.
"It is not my wish to cause you embarrassment, but the three of us are mystified by your curious reaction to the news of Louis' twin brother. It was upsetting to all of us to think of the cruelties done to that young man, but it seems to have particular significance to you. I would be interested to know what that significance is."
D'Artagnan looked away, shaking his head slowly. He felt cornered, like an animal caught in a trap, ambushed on all sides, and powerless to relieve his torment, for he knew that Aramis would relentlessly pursue the subject to his satisfaction. Anything he said to dissuade the questions would only serve to intensify the priest's curiosity about the secret he carried. It was about to come out; he knew that. But his natural defenses tried to hold out as long as possible.
When he did not answer, Aramis continued, "I have been puzzling over this ever since you walked out of the house, and I went back in my mind, considering all the things that have happened over the years, beginning with Louis' birth and your peculiar behavior that night. Porthos said that you became inebriated, something you have never done before or since."
"Inebriated is a polite way of putting it," Porthos corrected, emphatically. "He was falling-down drunk! Athos and I had to take him home and put him to bed, so that he could sleep it off!"
"My behavior that night was shameful," D'Artagnan responded, quietly, after a long pause. "I had hoped it would be forgotten."
"How could we forget it?" Porthos asked. "We had never seen you like that before! When word of the birth arrived, there was much celebration, toasting the new prince, but you didn't say a word. You just left the table. You took a bottle and moved into a corner by yourself and quietly drank yourself into a stupor."
"I suppose I carried the celebration too far. It has been known to happen."
"Not to you, it hasn't," Aramis reminded him. "Always, you have been the level-headed one; the only one of us who never over-indulged, who always knew when to quit. Yet this one event, the birth of a baby, drove you into a bottle such as none of us had ever witnessed from you before."
"As I said, I will forever be ashamed of my conduct that night."
"You are not telling us the truth, my friend," Aramis said, reproachfully. "You know that, and so do I. You were not celebrating the birth of the new prince, were you? You were dying inside, consumed by a personal heartache so great that the only way you could relieve your suffering, for just a short while, was to try to drown it in a bottle of wine."
Aramis could feel Porthos and Athos staring at him, wondering where he was going with his curious line of questioning, but to their credit they remained silent, knowing that he would eventually come to the point. He ignored them, his gaze riveted upon the Musketeer.
Again, D'Artagnan did not answer, and he continued to avoid their quizzical stares, gazing across the rippling water toward the distant hills, as if wishing he could escape into them, but was too emotionally drained to make the effort.
"Everything is starting to make sense to me," Aramis continued. "Just last week, you made the comment that some problems cannot be solved with a sword. You were speaking of yourself, weren't you, and the secret that you have borne for many years?"
"Aramis," D'Artagnan said softly, wearily. "Please do not pursue this."
Aramis' expression was apologetic, but his eyes were intense, like a hound on the scent of prey. "Forgive me, but I must. I think I understand what is happening here." He paused dramatically, still gazing intently at him. "The twins who were borne to the queen are not the sons of the late king, are they?"
Startled expressions flashed across the faces of Athos and Porthos. The two men glanced at one another, and it was obvious by Athos's parted lips that he wanted to speak, but he decided to see where Aramis's comments were going.
D'Artagnan flinched, noticeably. "Aramis, I beg you -- "
"They're your sons," he concluded.
"What?" Athos exploded in disbelief, unable to remain silent any longer. "That is preposterous! Aramis, have you taken leave of your senses?"
Aramis instantly raised his hand for silence, and when Athos fell quiet again, the priest gestured toward D'Artagnan with a subtle nod of his head. They turned toward the Musketeer captain, who continued to sit silently, his face still turned away from them, but his eyes were closed in apparent defeat.
"Aren't they, D'Artagnan?" Aramis prompted.
The others stared at him, waiting for the expected denial that did not come.
Aramis nodded, slowly, accepting the unspoken confirmation. "Your silence speaks as loudly as words, my friend. This is why the news I gave you of the second twin was so difficult for you to hear, wasn't it? It was painful to imagine that your own child was suffering year after year in an iron mask, imprisoned simply because of his resemblance to his brother, the king. And that is why you have been so loyal to Louis, even though you admittedly disapprove of his conduct. Your devotion to him is not that of a bodyguard to his king; it is the unconditional love of a father for his son, a son you have never been able to acknowledge as your own."
Several more moments of silence ensued, during which all eyes were steadfastly fixed upon the motionless Musketeer, who remained reluctant to admit to his sin, but was unable to deny it.
"It's true?" Athos asked, sharply, his expression harshly condemning. "Are you telling me that of all the women in France, you took the queen as your mistress?"
"It wasn't like that," D'Artagnan said softly, still avoiding his friend's gaze.
"What then?" Athos prodded, his eyes blazing with incredulity.
D'Artagnan cast a fleeting glance their direction, found them all staring at him with shock, and he quickly looked away again, unable to meet their reproachful expressions. Even Porthos was staring at him in slack-jawed astonishment, apparently too stunned to offer any of his typically witty annotations.
"I loved her, Athos," he said quietly in his defense. "I love her still. I will love her until I draw my final breath, even knowing that we can never be together." He sighed heavily, as if the weight he had carried all those years had suddenly become too heavy to bear. "She is my strength . . . and my weakness . . . for the one night we shared was enough to confirm that she is the love of my life. She holds my heart completely."
"And two sons resulted from that one night together," Aramis concluded.
"I only knew of Louis. Anne never told me there was a twin."
The others appeared startled by the fact that he had referred to her by her name rather than her title, for such familiarity with the queen was a serious offense, and they still found it difficult to believe that his familiarity with her went far beyond words and titles.
For the grieving Athos, it was one more fault to find with his former friend. "Have you any idea what would have happened if you had been caught with the wife of the king?" he ranted, his eyes bright with hostility. "You both would have been sent to the guillotine! No! Forget the guillotine --- you would have been shot on the spot! What the hell were you thinking?"
Porthos, recovering from his initial speechlessness, sought to deflect Athos's antagonism by injecting some levity into the situation. "I will wager a guess and say that he wasn't thinking, actually," he quipped. "He was –"
"Porthos, please!" Aramis admonished. "You're not helping."
"It's all right, Aramis," D'Artagnan said. "I deserve all the condemnation and ridicule that you wish to direct at me, for what I did undermines the government of the country. The royal line is now tainted with the blood of a commoner."
"Eradicated is more like it," Athos said. "Unless you want to consider the old king's relatives, none of whom are fit to sit on the throne. Have you any idea what you've done?"
"I am fully aware of what I have done," D'Artagnan retorted, the first hint of anger that they had seen from him since his arrival. "God knows, I have lived with it every day of my life since then! We knew the risks involved, and we knew the possible consequences we faced. The truth is, we never intended to let things go that far, but an opportunity presented itself and we allowed our hearts to rule our heads." He paused, pressing his fingertips against his forehead, rubbing and kneading the tenseness that had worked its way into another headache. He was certain that someone had mentioned the young man's name at some point the day before, but he had not been fully conscious and could not remember. "What is he called?" he asked.
"His name is Philippe," Aramis offered.
"Philippe," he repeated, sadly, trying to fight the emotion that was building again. "She never told me there was another child," he repeated. "How could she have kept that from me?"
"For most of his life, she believed he was dead," Aramis reminded him. "And when she did find out the truth, she probably feared what would happen if she told you. You probably would have gotten yourself killed trying to free him. Her life was at stake as well." Reaching out, he placed an affectionate hand on the Musketeer's shoulder and squeezed it in a comforting manner. "Why didn't you tell us, D'Artagnan? Did you not think we would stand by you?"
"At this moment, you have no idea how much I wish I had told you, for had you known that Louis was my son, perhaps you would have told me of Philippe. If I had known, I could have removed him from the home in which he was being raised while he was still a child, before Louis ever knew that he had a twin. That would have spared him the horrors of the prison and the mask."
Aramis averted his eyes, guiltily. "Yes, had I known the truth, it would have changed things to the point where I probably would have told you that you had another son. All these years, I kept my own secret; a secret which could have changed your life considerably. And his. I am truly sorry, D'Artagnan. Secrets seem to have a way of hurting others, don't they? But where would you have taken him, had you removed him from the home?"
"Louis was always out of my reach as a son, but I could have claimed Philippe for my own. Had I known of his existence, I would have resigned my commission and reared him myself somewhere far from Paris, where no one would ever know. I could never truly be with his mother, but I would have had our son."
"The physical evidence of your love," Aramis said, softly.
D'Artagnan looked up, surprised that the priest seemed to recognize what he had been thinking. "It would have been enough."
A long moment of silence hung over them as they two of them absorbed the impact of the consequences of the secret they had kept so long, never knowing that their secrets were entwined.
Finally, D'Artagnan managed a bitter smile, and the moment of mutual understanding ended. "So, does it please the three of you to finally have discovered my sin?" he asked with a trace of acrimony in his voice. "That the great D'Artagnan is not the pillar of virtue that everyone believes him to be?"
Aramis shook his head, regretfully. "That is not why I sought the truth. You know that I have an insatiable curiosity when I know that a mystery is at hand. I have noticed for some time now that you have been keeping a secret, something that was eating you up inside. But I never dreamed of the magnitude of it."
"How many people know of this?" Porthos asked, curiously. "That you are Louis' father?"
"Until today, only the queen and I. I am sure you understand why it was not something that we could reveal."
Aramis was shaking his head with the incredulity of it. "I cannot imagine how you must have suffered all this time, watching your son raised as the son of another. Watching him raised with no morals, and no sense of honor or responsibility to others, since you, yourself, have always placed such a high value on honor."
"It has not been easy," D'Artagnan admitted.
"Our combined secrets have caused us both much grief," Aramis said. "It has been a difficult thing for me to live with, knowing the role I played in condemning that young man to such a miserable existence. I will ask his forgiveness one day, but now it appears I must ask for yours as well, and also that of his mother, for my role not only in his confinement, but also in keeping you apart."
"I must ask all of you to keep knowledge of this among ourselves only. Have you any idea what would happen if word of this were to become known?"
"It would be as you said earlier," Aramis agreed. "France would be thrown into chaos."
D'Artagnan's eyes suddenly focused on something over Athos' shoulder, and a startled expression swept across his face, clearly seeing something that he had never expected to see.
As one, the three former Musketeers turned to see what had attracted his attention, although all three of them already suspected the source.
Philippe stood several yards behind Athos, observing them quietly, his youthful face expressing his own degree of astonishment as he stared at the Musketeer. It was obvious that he had heard a significant portion of the conversation.
Slowly, D'Artagnan rose from the stone wall to gaze for the first time upon the son he never knew existed before that day, and his expression indicated that he was greatly unsettled by his resemblance to Louis. "My God!" he whispered.
"Philippe!" Athos exclaimed, stepping backward to place a protective hand on the young man's shoulder. "We told you to stay out of sight until this matter was resolved!"
"I heard you talking before you left the house, and I figured this concerned me, so I followed," he replied. "Indeed, I did not realize just how much it concerned me!"
"How much of this did you hear?" Aramis asked.
Philippe ignored his inquiry. He had eyes only for D'Artagnan. "Is it true?" he asked. "Are you my father?"
D'Artagnan was clearly overwhelmed, almost to the point of being speechless, but he knew that there was no turning back now. Whatever the consequences might be, the secret he had kept for so long was out, and he could not, would not, answer Philippe's question with a lie. After a long pause, he nodded. "Yes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The two men, father and son, regarded one another in silence for several moments. Neither seemed to know what the appropriate response should be to such a revelation. Deep inside, both wanted to step into the arms of the other, to embrace as a father and son would, but they remained frozen in place, unable to react.
The eyes of the three older men darted from D'Artagnan to Philippe and back again. Athos was clearly troubled, wondering what ultimate ramifications this revelation would bring; Porthos was fascinated at what could have been a scandalous affair; Aramis recognized a need for privacy.
He nudged his friends. "I think perhaps we should return to the house and let them talk for a while."
Athos was reluctant to leave, determined to protect the boy that he had become so fond of, but with Aramis's prodding, he finally nodded, and they moved back up the road toward the village.
After the others had walked away, leaving them alone, an uncomfortable silence settled over D'Artagnan and Philippe. They watched until the three men were out of sight, and then both shifted their weight uneasily and looked at the ground, at the town, at the distant rolling hills, anyplace but at one another.
Finally, Philippe broke the silence, "I guess this must have been a surprise for you, to find that you had two sons instead of one."
Recovering from the initial shock, D'Artagnan listened carefully as the boy spoke, detecting distinct similarities in his speech to that of his brother, Louis. Even having been separated at birth, both of them spoke in a manner so similar that it would only require some tutoring for him to sound exactly like Louis. It was no wonder why Aramis was so certain that the exchange could be pulled off successfully.
D'Artagnan looked up and their eyes met, eyes that were the same shade of blue, but one pair was wise with knowledge and experience, the other pair very youthful, almost childlike in their innocence and curiosity.
"Somewhat," he admitted, unable to resist smiling at Philippe's comment. "Of all the things I expected to find when I reached this town, discovering that I have another son was not among them! Twins! Even now, I can hardly conceive of the notion."
"I hope . . . I hope you are not too upset by it," Philippe said, hesitantly. 'You look very distressed."
"I am not upset with you, Philippe. Do not think that for a minute. Of everyone involved in this, you are the only one among us who bears no blame." He gestured toward the gently waving grasslands outside the boundaries of the fortified town. "Come, let's walk together. We have much to talk about."
Philippe nodded his agreement, and they walked slowly up the road and then moved into the grass, strolling toward the open pastures. For several minutes, they walked in silence, each one wondering how to begin the conversation. Finally, D'Artagnan took the initiative.
"You must forgive my reaction at seeing you. Even though I have had a few minutes to adjust to the idea that Louis had a twin brother, I was still quite unprepared for the sight of you. Your resemblance to him is remarkable."
"That is what Aramis said, but he had seen me before, six years ago, so he already knew."
"Just before he left Paris, Aramis informed Athos, Porthos and myself that he had a particular plan to replace Louis, but I am afraid I did not remain long enough to hear what that plan was," he said. "I wish now that I had." With a smile, he ran his hand over the swelling behind his ear. "It would have saved me a terrible headache."
Philippe laughed, nervously, appreciating the humor that seemed to lighten the mood considerably. "How is your head?" he asked.
"It will be all right. I had a bit of a headache before you came up, but seeing you seems to have cured it!"
"Must be the shock," Philippe suggested, inspiring another smile from the Musketeer. "I was out taking a walk when you were brought in. When I got back, Aramis told me what had happened."
D'Artagnan experienced a sensation of relief that he had been spared the indignity of his son witnessing him at such a vulnerable time, being carried unconscious into the house.
Philippe shook his head slowly, troubled by the friction between his rescuers the evening before. "The physician was with you, and Athos and Aramis were in the drawing room. They were angry with each other, but neither was speaking. The tension between them was terrible. And then this morning, when I heard the things Athos said to you, it was like seeing a side of him that I didn't know existed. I was watching from the window."
D'Artagnan observed the boy for a long moment, still marveling that he bore such a remarkable resemblance to the king, but also detecting a hint of disappointment in the young man's face at the behavior of the former Musketeer, a disappointment that came from caring. "It would seem that you and Athos have become very close."
Philippe nodded, affirmatively. "Yes. He's been very kind to me. I think maybe we were drawn to each other because I never had a family, and he lost his son."
"He told you of Raoul?"
"No. Porthos told me. And I heard Aramis say that I remind him of you, when you were my age, so maybe Athos sees a bit of you in me also."
"You could not find a better mentor than Athos. He is a good man, and the best friend I ever had."
"A best friend, who clubbed you unconscious," Philippe reminded him. "And yet you bear him no ill will."
D'Artagnan shrugged. "He is consumed by his own pain, and I suppose he sees me as a representative of that pain right now. I hope he eventually realizes that I could not have prevented Raoul's death, but I also cannot hold his anger against him. His son was everything to him, and now that he is gone, it is as if his entire world has been pulled from under him. I cannot even comprehend that kind of grief."
They walked in silence for several moments, passing under a stand of fruit trees and emerging into the sunshine beyond.
"My life has taken so many turns this week that my head is still spinning from it all," Philippe said as they came to a halt at the fence which contained the livestock. "I was stunned when Aramis told me that I was the brother of the king, and even more so when he told me of his plans to place me on the throne. After living so long in the prison, I never could have anticipated such a thing."
"How do you feel about that?" D'Artagnan inquired, curiously. "How do you feel about the idea of replacing the king?"
He shrugged and looked at the ground, extremely uncomfortable with the notion of ruling the country. "It scares me," he admitted.
D'Artagnan nearly placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, but then resisted, uncertain if he would welcome the gesture from a father he had never known. "It is only natural that you would be apprehensive about this. A great deal of weight has been placed on your shoulders."
Philippe's eyes sought those of the Musketeer, grateful that the man understood his reluctance, for Aramis did not seem to understand at all. "I'm not sure I can do it. I'm not sure I even want to."
"Have you told the others about this?"
"No. I owe them so much. I don't want to let them down."
"Has Aramis been pressuring you?"
A grateful sigh escaped the boy's lungs, appreciative of the fact that D'Artagnan had anticipated this without having to say the words. He looked at his father for a long moment, reluctant to admit it, but his face told the story.
"When Aramis formulates a plan in his mind, it is difficult to dissuade him from it," D'Artagnan explained. "He means well, but he can become very aggressive when it comes to achieving his goal. But this decision must be yours alone, Philippe, for this decision will greatly change your life."
"They haven't given me any time to make the decision," the boy said with a note of panic in his voice. "Almost as soon as I had the mask off, Aramis was explaining everything to me, and saying to the others how they would replace Louis with me. He never really gave me time to think about it."
This time, D'Artagnan did place a comforting hand on Philippe's shoulder, and was pleased that the physical contact seemed to calm the boy a bit. "You will take as much time as you need to make your decision, Philippe," he told him. "I will handle Aramis."
The tension beneath D'Artagnan's hand gradually eased as the boy began to relax. "Thank you," he said, softly.
Philippe experienced a moment of disappointment when the Musketeer released his shoulder, and he gazed at the man who was his father, remembering the things he had heard about him.
"There have been so many revelations in my life the past few days, not the least of which is that my father is the famous D'Artagnan. I have never really heard anything of the king, yet I have heard of the great D'Artagnan."
"Exaggerations, I am sure," D'Artagnan replied, modestly.
A rather mischievous smile formed of Philippe's lips. "Is there anything else I should know?"
D'Artagnan was amused. "Nothing comes immediately to mind, but if I think of something, I will be sure to let you know. And if you have questions, you are free to ask them."
Philippe leaned on the fence and considered the questions he might ask his father, but he was so overwhelmed that he was hardly able to think at all. "Does Louis know that you are our father?"
"No. For years, only your mother and I knew the truth. Now, you and the other three know as well, but I don't want Louis to know, ever. Armed with such knowledge, he could do great harm to you and your mother once you ascend to the throne. And no one else must know, either. This is very important; I cannot stress this enough. You have no idea what could happen to the country and to your mother if this became known."
Philippe nodded his concurrence. "I understand." He fell silent for several moments, then said, "I heard what you said earlier; that had you known of me, you would have resigned your commission and raised me yourself."
"I meant it," D'Artagnan said, seriously.
"Where would we have lived?"
"I don't know. I suppose I probably would have taken you back to my parents' home. I had no experience with children, and they would have loved a grandchild."
"Are your parents still living?"
"No. They've been gone some years, now."
"While in prison, I heard one of the guards talking. He had fathered a child to a woman he was not married to, and he wanted nothing to do with it. Hearing you say that you would have wanted me means a lot to me."
"I wanted Louis, too, but I had to watch him grow up from a distance. Oh, there was that initial jolt of surprise and panic when your mother first told me that she was pregnant, but the idea of having a family with the woman I loved was very appealing to me. Unfortunately, it was an impossible situation. You cannot imagine what it is like to love a child so much and not even be able to acknowledge that he is yours."
Leaving the pastures behind, they turned and strolled slowly back toward the village. As they neared the main road, they passed a group of young women, and one of them paused to cast a meaningful smile at Philippe. He smiled in response, but they passed each other without speaking.
D'Artagnan watched with interest as Philippe turned to look longingly after her. "You like the girl?"
Philippe blushed so deeply that D'Artagnan had to struggle to keep a straight face. "We've never spoken."
"That isn't what I asked." The words were spoken kindly and with a mildly teasing smile, and Philippe shrugged as he responded with a slight smile of his own.
"Yes, I like her."
"She obviously likes you as well. So, why haven't you spoken to her?"
Philippe shrugged, very embarrassed. "The time just hasn't been right, I suppose. There is always someone else around. I will speak to her some day . . . I hope."
D'Artagnan understood what Philippe was not saying. Having been kept segregated his entire life, the young man had no experience at all with girls. But although he felt sorrow for his isolation, he also realized that Philippe was a clean slate; almost completely uncorrupted. The priest who had helped raise him would have instilled faith and proper moral conduct in the young man. His only negative experiences were the six years he had spent in prison, but surprisingly it did not seem to have embittered him. He and the three ex-Musketeers would serve as examples of how gentlemen were expected to behave, and hopefully the memories of the terrible things that had been done to him would fade.
Turning back toward the village, they walked side by side up the narrow road toward the house.
Author's note: Randall Wallace's original script indicates that D'Artagnan and Anne only spent one night together, so that is the theme I am following with this story.