Nineteen
Shortly before dawn the next morning, Aramis and D'Artagnan collected the gear they intended to take with them, and stepped into the street in front of the house, where the coach waited that would carry take them back to Paris. Athos, Porthos, and Philippe followed them outside.
As Aramis stored their satchels on the rear of the coach, D'Artagnan turned to face his son, anticipating their first parting since they had met weeks earlier. Neither of them had realized just how difficult this first separation would be.
Philippe flung his arms around his father and embraced him. "It is well that I have chosen to live with you in the palace, for I do not think I could bear being away from you any longer than the few days that will separate us now."
"I am glad you made that choice as well, son, for the same reason," D'Artagnan replied, holding him close against him. "I have grown accustomed to having you near me."
"When you see Mother, tell her I am anxious to meet her."
"I will. She will be beside herself with joy that you are safe." The father and son parted, and D'Artagnan allowed his hand to rest a moment longer on his son's cheek. "I will see you in a few days."
"Have a safe trip," Athos said. "And don't worry about your son. I will keep him in line."
D'Artagnan smiled. "But who will keep you in line?" He gave his old friend a smile and an affectionate pat on the arm, then boarded the coach.
Aramis climbed in behind him and took the seat across from him. Athos pushed the door shut and latched it securely. The driver flicked the reins over the rumps of the four seal-brown carriage horses, and the coach lurched into motion.
The horses trotted briskly down the street and out of town, frisky in the cool early morning air. Once out of town, the driver turned them toward Paris.
When they were well on their way, Aramis rested his head against the carriage wall and dozed, lulled by the rocking motion of the vehicle, but D'Artagnan was too nervous and excited to sleep. Tomorrow, he would see Anne again, and would tell her not only that Philippe had survived his ordeal in the prison, but that Louis would be temporarily condemned to the same fate. How she would react to that was anyone's guess, for she loved Louis, as D'Artagnan himself did, but he knew that a mother's love was a special bond.
Hours later, they stopped for lunch at a country home a short distance off the main road, and the coachman changed the horses while the two men ate their meal. Then, within a half hour, they were back on the road again.
Another stop was made for supper, again traveling a short distance off the main road to reach another house, and once again the horses were changed to a fresh team. D'Artagnan found it interesting that they were detouring to private homes to procure fresh horses rather than stopping at known stables in townships along the way, but he made no comment, observing that the occupants were quite friendly with the priest. It was obvious that they were well acquainted.
When they were back on the road again, as darkness was beginning to settle over the land, the Musketeer eyed his friend curiously across the dusky atmosphere inside the vehicle. "More Jesuits?" he asked.
"Yes. There is a network of them all over France, and gaining strength all the time."
D'Artagnan's body gave an involuntary shudder, thinking of what could have happened to Louis had the three former Musketeers not learned of his paternity. "I suppose I underestimated the resolve of your army."
Aramis seemed to understand what he was thinking. "Do not dwell on it, my friend. The plan we have will be carried out without bloodshed, now that you are here to help us."
"Unfortunately, my involvement means I must hurt Anne in order to save Louis," he said, quietly. "Placing her son in the mask and confining him in the Bastille." He shook his head with regret. "You have no idea how difficult it is to tell her of our plans."
"That task would have fallen to me, had your secret not been discovered," Aramis reminded him. "So I do know something of what you're feeling right now. Not to the same degree, perhaps, knowing that it is your own son that you must do this to, but I felt the same dread, the same worry about what her reaction might be. She must be consoled with the knowledge that it is only temporary and that it is in his best interest as well."
"Yes. That is my consolation as well." Falling silent again, D'Artagnan shifted his gaze through the window to the moonlit landscape as the carriage continued its journey toward Paris.
Slowed by the stops for meals and to change the horses, it was nearly midnight when the priest and the Musketeer entered the city. The driver took them through the cobblestone streets, finally arriving at the steps to the monastery in which Aramis resided.
The two tired travelers climbed the steps, and Aramis took D'Artagnan to a bed chamber and bid him goodnight. Tomorrow would be an important day.
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The next day, an hour before Anne's regularly scheduled confession, D'Artagnan and Aramis were taken by carriage to the edge of the king's property, and, concealed inside the vehicle, they gazed out the window at the grounds and buildings. Due to its enormous size, it was impossible to adequately guard the outer perimeters of the property, so they would face little risk of detection until they reached the inner perimeter.
"This is the best place?" Aramis asked.
"Yes," D'Artagnan replied. "We will cut through the orchards to the caretaker's cottage. From there, we will simply follow the path that will take us to the chapel."
Aramis opened the carriage door and the two men stepped onto the road. To the driver, he said, "We may be some time and it might attract unwanted attention if you were to be seen waiting for us, so it might be better if you proceed."
"There is a meadow nearby," D'Artagnan added. "Wait there for an hour. If anyone questions why you are stopped there, tell them you are merely resting the horses. After the hour is up, begin passing this spot every ten minutes. If we get back after you've passed, we will wait in the trees until you return."
"Very good, sir," the driver replied. Flicking the reins over the horses' rumps, he drove the carriage farther down the road.
On foot, D'Artagnan and Aramis made their way through the grove of fruit-bearing trees toward the caretaker's small cottage, which was nestled unobtrusively behind a concealing hedge where it would not interfere with the view of the grounds from the palace. Skirting behind the cottage, they proceeded to the large shed where a large supply of wood was always kept to provide fuel for the palace hearths and cook fires. From there, they proceeded cautiously to the chapel, and reached it without incident.
They stopped beside the long wall of the chapel that protected them from view of the palace.
"All right, we made it," Aramis said, looking cautiously over his shoulder. "It is best that I speak to Father Belles alone. Wait for me inside, where you are at less risk of detection."
D'Artagnan watched as the priest made his way toward the modest residence of Anne's priest, then moved to the edge of the building and looked around the corner toward the palace. The palace yard was relatively quiet. A lone gardener was pruning the hedges, his back to the Musketeer. He lifted his eyes to the magnificent structure that was the palace. His own bedroom window was dark, as were most of the others, but in one of the corner rooms, a maid was scrubbing the glass with a cloth.
Turning his back to the palace, D'Artagnan's eyes strayed to the outer gardens, specifically the magnificent rose garden that boasted all the latest varieties. On impulse, he made his way through the rose garden, careful to avoid discovery. He was out of uniform, and from a distance might be regarded as an intruder. If apprehended, he would have a difficult time explaining his presence on the grounds.
After a short time, he found what he was looking for; a perfectly shaped long stemmed red rose. Withdrawing his knife, he quickly cut the rose from the bush, and then made his way to the chapel, where he would meet Aramis.
Upon entering the building, he placed the rose on the kneeling bench before the alter, then paced quietly on the polished floor, waiting for Aramis to return from his meeting with Anne's priest. As he paced, he could not help but remember that it was here, only a few weeks prior, that he and Anne had shared a kiss, their first since the day they had decided by mutual consent to back away from their relationship. It had been a painful decision, and their parting kiss that long ago day had been fraught with tears and distress, but it was a decision that they both believed was the correct one at the time.
Throughout the years, he had occasionally left a rose for her in that very spot on her kneeling bench, a token of his esteem for her, and a reminder of the bond they would always share. Now, more than ever, it was a symbol of their lasting love for one another.
Repeatedly, he moved to the door to look outside, making certain that no one was approaching. Finally, he saw Aramis hurrying down the lane toward him, keeping a cautious eye on his surroundings. He opened the door wider, and the priest stepped inside and pushed it closed again.
"He has agreed," Aramis said. "It seems I am not the only one seeking redemption from the sins committed when Philippe and Louis were born. He has been tormented by the lie that was told to the queen that night, as I have been."
"How much does he know?"
"He does not know about you," Aramis assured him. "But he is aware that there were twins, for it was he who placed Philippe in my arms the night he was born, and who told the queen the lie that her second son had died shortly after his birth. I told him that we have rescued Philippe from a horrible existence. I told him I only wish to speak to the queen in private, to inform her that her child still lives. He knows nothing else."
"That is good. The more people who know, the more dangerous it is for everyone concerned."
Aramis was looking at him strangely. "Speaking of redemption, D'Artagnan, I hope you have confessed to your sin, the one that involves you in this situation."
"I confessed to the adultery," he replied. "And served my penance."
Aramis nodded, pleased. "Good. I'm glad that you have cleansed your soul of that mistake."
D'Artagnan opened the door a crack to glance through it, then eased it closed again. His heart was pounding rapidly with nervous anticipation, and he found it difficult to stand still.
"You look anxious, my friend," Aramis observed.
"That is because I am," he admitted. "Going into battle is less difficult than this will be. It will not be easy to take away the joy she will feel about Philippe by informing her of what we plan for Louis."
"You know there is no other alternative. We must make certain that the queen mother understands that as well. And in a way, this is a battle. It will be up to us to make certain that it is a bloodless fight. Her cooperation is imperative."
"I know," D'Artagnan agreed. "But knowing that does not relieve my burden." He eased the door open a crack again to peer outside, and this time Aramis saw him tense. "She's coming."
The two men slipped quietly into a darkened corner behind a pillar and waited.
After several minutes, the door opened and Anne, the mother of Louis and Philippe, stepped into the chapel. She turned to close the door behind her, then approached the kneeling bench.
Spying the rose, she paused at the kneeling bench to pick it up and brushed its soft petals against her lips, inhaling its soft perfume. Smiling with the knowledge that he had returned safely from the journey he had taken, she knelt on the bench to pray silently for a moment. She then crossed herself reverently, and stood up again.
Concealed in the shadows behind the pillar, D'Artagnan drew his breath in sharply in reaction to her beauty, and the sound carried in the quiet room to her alert ears.
Turning, her eyes darted to the shadows, but she was not alarmed to see the figure of a man there. "Father Belles? Is that you?"
D'Artagnan stepped from behind the pillar. "No, it is I."
She recognized the voice immediately, but, unaccustomed to seeing him in civilian clothing, it took her eyes a moment to catch up with her ears. "D'Artagnan?" she asked. She started to go to him, but stopped when she saw Aramis step from behind him.
"Aramis?" she asked, startled to see him rather than her regular priest. Although Louis never made her privy to matters of state, she had heard snatches of talk that Aramis was being sought out by her son, for it appeared that he and his two friends, Porthos and Athos, had disappeared and were up to something that might undermine the government. Her eyes shifted back to D'Artagnan, for he was standing beside the priest, out of uniform, and with no apparent intention of arresting him. "Has something happened?" she asked. "Where is Father Belles?"
"We have come to you with news, and Father Belles agreed that the news should come from me," the priest said. "For it was I who carried the second of your twin sons away from the palace that night right after his birth."
Her eyes darted anxiously to D'Artagnan to gauge his reaction to the news that she had borne twins, and saw no surprise reflected in his blue eyes. She felt her heart leap with alarm. He knew! Somehow, he had found out!
Aramis continued, "I have prayed every day for forgiveness for my cruel act, but now I know that forgiveness must first come from you before it can come from God. Your Majesty, for years I have suffered with guilt for the role I played in separating you from your child, and in condemning him to a miserable existence. But now, we have the chance to make things right again, and that is why we have come."
She looked at him as he was speaking, hardly daring to believe the implications of his words. "You offer cryptic references to my lost son, whom I was told had died weeks ago within an iron mask. I must ask for clarification, as your words are ambiguous."
"As I just told you, it was I who took him from you, but it is I, and my friends, who will return him to you."
Hope sprang to her face, brightening her dark eyes. "He still lives?"
"Yes. My friends and I have removed him from the prison and from the mask."
"But the letter – Louis received a letter from the prison that the man in the mask had died. I saw it myself."
"An imposter. A man already dead, who I carried into the prison myself and left in Philippe's place, so that no one else would know the truth. I assure you, your majesty, that Philippe is very much alive."
Overcome by relief and joy, she covered her face with her hands and wept softly. "Thank you!" she wept, her voice muffled by her hands. "Thank you for saving my son!"
D'Artagnan could remain silent no longer. Reaching out, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Anne," he said, softly.
Her eyes snapped up to his face, and he saw the guilt reflected there and the regret that she had withheld the existence of his other son.
Reaching out, he brushed the tears from her cheeks with his fingers as his eyes bored deep into hers, first one and then the other. In a gently reproachful voice, he asked, "Anne, why didn't you tell me there were two?"
To allow them some privacy, Aramis quietly excused himself and moved to the door of the chapel to stand guard. He tried to appear that he was not listening, but he could not help but overhear in the small building.
The queen mother's gaze followed Aramis to his position at the door. She knew he had heard the captain's inquiry, yet his expression registered no surprise. "He knows about us? You told him?"
"He figured out the truth. When he told me that you had given birth to twins, I imagine my face must have said it all. The agony I felt inside of learning that I had a second son, a son who had been living in a prison inside an iron mask for no other crime than his resemblance to Louis was devastating to me. When Aramis asked me the question, I could not lie. Athos and Porthos know as well, as does Philippe."
Her eyes widened with panic. "So many!" she exclaimed. "It is dangerous for so many to know!"
His hands gently cradled the sides of her face, calming her with his touch. "They will not tell anyone; you have my word. Our secret is safe with them."
She looked into his eyes, and felt soothed by his reassurances. "Philippe knows that he is your son?" she asked.
"Yes. Anne, about Philippe –"
"When they were born, I was told that Philippe had died immediately after," she interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It wasn't until many years later, when the king was on his deathbed, that he revealed the truth to me and to Louis. I wanted to bring him back to Paris, to live with us at the palace, but Louis wouldn't hear of it. He feared his brother would challenge him to the throne, so he ordered Philippe removed to the prison and placed in the mask." She gazed imploringly into his eyes. "I never wanted to keep this from you. When he was born and I was told that he had died, there was no reason to tell you. He was gone, and telling you that you had a second son who had died would serve no purpose except to cause you more grief than you already had to bear. But then, when I found out the truth, I didn't know how to tell you. Nothing I could say or do could persuade Louis to release his brother, and I was afraid of what you would do if you knew the truth. I would rather die myself than for anything to happen to you. Please do not be angry with me."
His lips turned up in a slight smile. "I could never be angry with you, Anne. I was hurt and confused, wondering why you had kept this from me, but I know you were in a difficult position. And it began to make sense to me why you always seemed so sad, why you have shut yourself off from the rest of the world. You wanted to help him, but could not. I do wish you had told me, but I understand why you did not." He glanced at Aramis again, who had cracked open the door and was keeping a watchful eye. "I have come here with Aramis to speak to you about what we plan to do. Philippe is free. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis have freed him. They've been keeping him in a village a day's hard ride from here."
"He is safe?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I want to see him!" she pleaded.
"You will. Soon."
"No! Now! Please, take me to him! Take me to my son!"
He grasped both of her hands in his. "As much as I would love to take you there, where we could spend time as a family, you know that is not possible. You have been a recluse for so long that questions would be asked if you suddenly decided to take a trip."
"I do not care! We will think of something. D'Artagnan, please –"
"Anne, my love," he whispered softly, his heart aching that he must deny her request. "I would give anything to share that time with you and our son, but please think about what you are asking. We cannot risk Louis becoming suspicious and sending someone to follow you. If that happened, we would be leading that person directly to Philippe."
She bowed her head, resting her forehead against his shoulder, and finally accepted his logic. She drew a deep breath and released it in a heavy sigh of disappointment as she looked up into his face again. "You are right, D'Artagnan. I was not thinking ahead. I have not seen my son since the moment he was born, but I must not be selfish. His safety must come above everything else."
"I promise that you will meet him soon. He is anxious to see you as well."
He hesitated, casting another glance at Aramis, and found the priest looking back at him with a sympathetic expression, understanding that this was the moment he had been dreading. Aramis nodded, encouragingly, then turned his attention back to the door.
D'Artagnan continued, "Anne, there are other things that we must discuss. I have done everything my position allows me to do to mold Louis' character, to try to help him understand that the people of this country are his responsibility, but he disregards everything I say."
She nodded. "Yes. He ignores everything except his own pleasures and wants."
"We have two sons together, and as their parents, we must be united on what we both know must happen. Louis is unfit to rule. You know this as well as I. I have protected him his entire life. I have saved him from assassins six times in the past twelve months, but I will not be here forever to watch over him. The people are suffering great poverty under his reign. If things do not change, I fear there will be an open rebellion, and if that happens, there will be much blood shed and Louis will be deposed by influences under which we will have no control. We have a great opportunity here to decide the future of the country."
She looked at him for a long moment, comprehension on her attractive face. "You are proposing that we replace Louis with Philippe?" she guessed.
"The best thing would be for Louis to voluntarily step down from the throne and allow Philippe to rule in his place, but we both know that is unlikely to happen."
"He will never do that!" she declared. "It has been his biggest fear that Philippe will claim the throne. That is what led to the mask and the imprisonment in the first place!"
"I know. And since we cannot convince him to step down voluntarily, then he will have to be removed by force."
She looked distressed. "It will destroy him. He loves the power he has been given."
"It is a power that he abuses. It will be an adjustment, to be sure, but at least he will be alive. Under open rebellion, I cannot guarantee as much. The Jesuits are a force to be reckoned with, and they are gaining strength all the time, their ranks filled by men who are opposed to Louis. This is the only way to assure his safety."
"What will become of him?"
He looked away, unable to speak the words.
A chill of comprehension shivered through her body. "No! D'Artagnan, please!" she exclaimed, clutching desperately at the front of his shirt, imploring with her eyes. "We cannot do that to our son!"
He placed his hands on her shoulders in an effort to calm her. "Anne, agreeing to this was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made, but I don't know what else we can do."
"There must be some other way!" she pleaded. "He is our son!"
"I know. Philippe was against this as well, even after everything his brother has done to him. I assure you, it will only be for a short while. He must learn humility, and the only way for him to do that is to understand firsthand the hardships he has placed on others, beginning with the suffering he has placed on his own brother. Philippe has promised to show mercy as king. In time, Louis will be taken elsewhere and allowed to live out his life quietly, out of the public eye. You will be permitted to visit him, but he must never know that I am his father. He would use that knowledge against Philippe."
She lowered her gaze, her eyes studying the untied laces on the upper front of his shirt and the smooth skin that showed between them. "It will only be for a short time?"
"Yes, until other arrangements can be made."
"These arrangements cannot be made beforehand, to spare him this humiliation?"
"No, I'm afraid not. There are too many intricacies. The place we take him must be secured, and we must find people to care for him, people who will treat him with respect, but who will not be bribed by him. A cloth mask will be commissioned for him to wear while in the company of others, which will be more comfortable for him than the iron one he fashioned for his brother, but he will not be required to wear it when he is alone or with you."
"Where will he be taken?"
"I was thinking the country estate that was owned by your husband's late relatives. There is already a high wall around the courtyard, where he may take the sun. A few modifications will secure it completely. Anne, if there was any other way . . . " His voice trailed, and he did not complete the sentence.
Anne considered his words carefully, and after a long pause, she finally nodded. "I understand. I wish there was a different way, but I do understand. How long will he have to suffer?"
"Hopefully, not long."
It was not the answer she was hoping to hear, but it would have to do. "Then I must be strong, and pray that he will soon be free of the prison and the iron mask." Looking up into his eyes again, she urged, "Tell me of Philippe."
"He has endured his ordeal with remarkable courage and dignity. In fact, he is the exact opposite of Louis in everything except appearance. They look almost exactly alike, but where Louis is cold and hard, Philippe is kind and gentle. The biggest difference in them is around the eyes. Philippe's eyes are compassionate, where Louis' eyes show no mercy for anyone. Philippe will make a good king because he understands hardship. I believe that he will bring peace and prosperity to this country."
"Then it must be so. That is where you have been all this time? With Philippe?"
"Yes. We – Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and myself – have been training him in preparation for his ascension to the throne. Just so you know, he did not want to take his brother's throne, at first. It is strange, but he has feelings for his brother, a brother he has never even met. At first, he must pass for Louis, but he will gradually assert his own personality. We explained things to him, and allowed him to make a decision. I believe he made the right one. For the first time, Anne, I know what it is like for a father to feel pride for his son. I feared I would never know such a thing."
Reaching up, she caressed his cheek with her fingertips. "Thank you for telling me. When will you make the exchange?"
"Aramis has suggested bringing Philippe in during the ball. There will be a crowd of people, their faces covered with masks, so it will be easy to slip him inside without detection. I will find a way to notify you when it happens. In the meantime, you must not let Louis know that something is amiss."
"That will not be difficult, for I rarely see him these days. It has been more than three months since I have had a conversation with him, and even longer since we have dined together."
"Ordinarily, I would be sorry for his neglect of you, but in this case, it may be a good thing, for it will be difficult for you to see him, knowing what is going to happen." He glanced toward the door. "The longer we remain here, the more dangerous it is. We must leave now."
"You are returning to Philippe?" she asked, anxiously.
"Yes."
Reaching beneath the collar of her dress, she withdrew a gold cross on a chain and unfastened it. Placing it in D'Artagnan's hand, she said, "Please, give this to him. And let him know that I will be praying for his safe trip to Paris, where we will be reunited."
"He will be pleased to know this."
She placed her arms around him and embraced him tightly.
When they withdrew, he hesitated briefly, then leaned toward her and pressed his lips to hers. She welcomed his kiss, accepting and returning his love, her fingertips gently caressing his cheek.
Aramis observed them for a moment, understanding that they could never display their affection for one another openly, then he politely turned away.
A moment later, D'Artagnan was at his side. The two men slipped quietly out the door, around the side of the building, and made their way back to the road where the carriage was waiting.
Anne waited for several minutes after they left, offering a prayer of gratitude that her younger son had been spared, then she made her way back up the path toward the palace, her heart lifted by the news that he would soon join her. Her only regret was that she, her lover, and their two sons could never truly be a family.