Twenty One
It was still dark when Philippe was awakened by a hand gently shaking his shoulder. His eyes opened with a start, and he lifted his head from the pillow to find his father standing beside him, a candle in one hand and the other hand still resting on his shoulder.
Philippe squinted against the light emitted by the dancing flame, and rubbed his fingers in his eyes in an attempt to drive away the fog of drowsiness that lingered. D'Artagnan had never come to his room in the middle of the night before; something serious must have happened. "Father? Is something wrong?" he asked as he pushed himself up on one elbow.
"No, son. It is time to get up. We leave for Paris within the hour."
The jolt of remembrance slammed down on Philippe, and he felt his heart leap with dread. The reality of what lay ahead for him had been temporarily driven away by the welcome oblivion of sleep, and he immediately felt his stomach tighten as it all returned.
D'Artagnan felt the slight tremor that ran through the young man's body, and he released his shoulder, patted it reassuringly, then turned and held the flame of his candle to the one on the bedside table until it was lit.
"What time is it?" Philippe asked.
"Four o'clock."
He noticed that the Musketeer was already fully dressed and shaved, but had apparently delayed waking his son as long as possible. He wondered what time his father had risen, and if he had lain awake half the night too. D'Artagnan's voice interrupted his thoughts, and his eyes darted up to meet those of his father.
"I will leave you to dress," he was saying. "The rest of us will be in the kitchen." With an encouraging smile, he backed out of the room and closed the door.
Philippe fell back on the pillow once again, but it was not from lingering drowsiness. Instead, an intense feeling of apprehension seeped into his stomach driving away all remnants of sleep. This, he decided, was what a condemned man must feel like on the day of his execution. Except it was not his physical self who would die; it was only his name. Today, the charade would begin. They were leaving the village, a place in which Philippe felt safe and comfortable, and moving to Porthos's estate outside the great city. From there, he would be transferred to the palace where he would live out his life as king. For the rest of his life, he would be known publicly as Louis, and would rule the country in his place. Nothing would ever be the same.
With a sigh of resignation, he tossed back the covers and got out of bed to dress.
After closing the door behind him, D'Artagnan made his way down the stairs, lighting the way with the candle he carried. He had noticed the anxious expression on Philippe's youthful face, and understood completely how the young man was feeling, for he shared those same concerns. During the training period, it was hard to imagine that this day would soon arrive, and that Philippe would be facing what could in fact be a dangerous exchange.
As he entered the kitchen, he found Athos and Porthos seated at the table. Athos was rubbing his fingers in his eyes, and Porthos was resting his head in one hand, his eyes closed as if unable to bring himself fully awake. Aramis was fetching a loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth from the cupboard, and in the priest's obvious excitement he appeared to be the only bright-eyed one among them.
"Breakfast will be a meager meal this morning," he announced. "Angelina arrived early to prepare something for us, but I am too energized for a large meal and presumed the rest of you would be also, so I instructed her to go home and bid farewell to her family. She will join us at the coach when we are ready to leave."
Porthos yawned widely, generating a round of yawns around the table. "She is sad to be leaving her family, but happy to be embarking on a life with me. I have found a treasured cook in that woman, and a good companion. I dare say, she is quite fond of me."
Athos and D'Artagnan exchanged amused smiles.
Aramis placed the bread on the table and with a knife began cutting thick slices. "Have you awakened Philippe yet?" he asked.
D'Artagnan nodded. "He is dressing now, and will be joining us soon."
"Good. I suppose he is very excited about his new life."
D'Artagnan shrugged. "I am not sure excited is exactly what he is feeling at the moment. Nervous and worried are probably closer to what he is actually feeling. I would be in his place."
"No, you wouldn't," Aramis contradicted, but there was a smile in his voice as well as on his lips. "By the time you were his age, you were accustomed to danger."
"True. But Philippe is not. Everything that was done to him was done against his will. He had no say in any of it. That is why I was so adamant that this decision be his alone, for he is the one who must live with the consequences of that decision."
"I must confess to being a bit worried about that," Aramis admitted. "But I am pleased that he made the right decision."
D'Artagnan lowered his gaze to the worn table top. Now that the task was at hand, he hoped it was the right decision. Everything must be so precise during the exchange. At any time, one small, seemingly insignificant mistake could cost them everything.
Athos noticed his change of demeanor. "You are worried?"
He looked up, his eyes meeting those of his friend. "We must use extra caution to make sure that the exchange is made safely. Our margin for error is not that great, and I do not wish harm to come to either of my sons."
With the entire loaf of bread sliced, Aramis placed a crock of butter and another of jam in the center of the table for their use, then took his usual place at the head of the table, and everyone bowed their heads while Aramis offered a prayer of thanks. When the prayer was completed, they all murmured, "Amen."
Athos reached for a slice of bread and the crock of butter to butter it. The crock was then passed to D'Artagnan, who ignored it for the moment.
Aramis was less concerned that his friend. "All we have to do to make a successful exchange is get Louis to leave the ballroom and go into a secluded area, such as his own bedchamber, where we can apprehend him."
"Louis leave the room during a ball?" D'Artagnan asked, apparently thinking the idea was preposterous. "That will not be easily achieved. Louis thrives on the excitement of a dance. I can think of no reason why he would be inclined to leave the room."
"I can think of one," Porthos said. "Make certain he gets plenty to drink, then he will have to leave briefly for personal comfort. He will most certainly be alone for the event, and will be a perfect time for us to apprehend him."
"That is too unpredictable," Aramis said. "We cannot leave it to chance. I have a plan, but you may not like it, D'Artagnan."
D'Artagnan had finally started buttering his bread, but at the priest's ominous comment, the butter knife froze against the slice, and his expression immediately became suspicious. "What do you have in mind?" he asked.
"I have commissioned a trusted blacksmith, a member of our Order, to make three more iron masks; not the entire cage, just the mask. I propose that Athos, Porthos, and myself place them beneath our ball masks and then periodically reveal them to Louis during the dance at inconspicuous moments when he alone will see them. The replicas of his brother's mask are that last things he will expect to see during his ball, and he will think he is going mad! I predict he will retreat to his chamber to steady himself."
"You are right. I don't like it," D'Artagnan said. He pushed the crock of butter to the head of the table. "That is as much to chance as Porthos's suggestion, and I must say, I like his better."
"Thank you, D'Artagnan," Porthos said.
"I admit, it is not foolproof, but it is the best plan we have," Aramis argued. "Louis thinks that he is the only person alive who knows the identity of the man in the mask. The fear that others might know is enough to push him over the edge."
"Or, he may figure out the ruse and expose you as a conspirator. Not to mention the fact that the ballroom will be guarded by Musketeers who may witness the execution of your plan. What happens if one of them should see the masks? Do you not think they will realize that something is amiss?"
"Well, there is that possibility, but I believe this has a good chance for success. We will simply have to be careful."
"Careful about what?" Philippe asked as he stepped into the room.
"Have a seat, Philippe," Aramis said. "We were just discussing our plans for the exchange."
Philippe's mouth was set in a straight line as he moved to the empty chair beside his father, and slowly sank into it.
"Have some bread, Philippe," Athos said.
Philippe shook his head. "I do not think I could eat. My stomach is all twisted up in knots."
D'Artagnan placed a comforting hand on his son's arm. "It is only natural to have second thoughts about this, but you must stand up to them." Withdrawing the hand, he turned to the others. "I will return to the palace tomorrow."
Philippe looked briefly panic-stricken at the thought of being separated from his father so soon after arriving at the estate. "So soon?"
"I want to feel things out at Court, find out what Louis' plans are for the new few days. A better opportunity than the ball may present itself for the exchange. I will get word to you if a situation arises."
Aramis appeared slightly offended that the others had so little appreciation for the plan he felt was brilliant, but he nodded in agreement. "Very well. I am not so proud that I would disregard better alternatives, if one exists." He gestured toward the loaf of bread. "Philippe, you really should try to eat something. It will be a long time before we stop for lunch."
Reluctantly, Philippe picked up a slice of bread and buttered it, but he could only nibble at the food. The butterflies in his stomach were threatening to turn into nausea, and he did not want to embarrass himself in front of the others.
When the entire loaf of bread had been consumed, Aramis stood up from his place at the head of the table.
"Gentlemen, after a lifetime of service to the king, we now embark on the most important mission of our entire lives. At last, we will have a ruler worthy of our loyalty." He raised his glass of cider. "To the king!"
Athos, Porthos, and D'Artagnan all lifted their glasses. "To the king!"
It gave Philippe a strange feeling to watch as the other men toasted him as their new king, and he experienced a mixture of intense pride and extreme self-consciousness. He only hoped he could live up to their expectations.
Aramis returned his glass to the table and walked toward the door. "It is time to leave. I have ordered the servants that all our belongings be placed on the coach while we ate, but Philippe, you must carry this with you at all times until our arrival," he added, reaching for a hooded cloak which he had placed on a peg near the door. "We will make a stop for lunch and another for supper, as it is a very long trip. I have already sent a messenger ahead to expect us, and as we move from the coach to the house, you must make certain that your face is covered to prevent passersby from seeing it, and you must remain covered until we are in the dining room. We will be left completely alone while we eat, then you must cover yourself again as we return to the coach. Likewise, if anyone approaches the coach at any time, you must prevent them from seeing your face. We move into dangerous territory today, my friends. Make certain that your weapons are handy at all times."
The men checked their weapons. Swords were carried in the scabbards at their sides, and musket pistols were concealed in their clothing. When they were ready, they left the house for the last time and moved toward the stable. The horses were hitched to the vehicle, and the coachman was making a final check of the harnesses. The luggage was already strapped to the rear of the coach. The black gelding was tethered to the back of the vehicle.
Athos opened the door, and they filed into it, Athos, Philippe, and D'Artagnan took one seat, while Aramis stepped inside and sat across from Athos. Porthos, however, waited at the door for Angelina, who embraced her parents and each of her sisters and brothers before hurrying toward the coach.
Porthos took her hand and assisted her into the vehicle. She sat down next to Aramis, and the coach tilted slightly as Porthos stepped inside and took his seat beside her. He securely latched the door behind him, and the coach lurched into motion. They were on their way.
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The morning passed slowly for the travelers. The coach swayed and rocked over the imperfections in the dirt road, lulling several of them into a doze only to be jolted awake whenever the wheel bounced on a rut.
They stopped several times to rest the horses and to allow the passengers to get out and stretch their legs, and during one such stop, Athos's eyes fell upon Angelina, scrutinizing her as he had never done before. Always at the house, she had been the cook and housekeeper, even more than her sisters, and he had paid little attention to her presence. But now he noticed her as a possible threat to the new king's security.
After she excused herself from the others and walked into the brushes for a few minutes alone with her personal business, he asked, "How much does she know? She has been working for us for some time; she must surely have picked up the notion that something significant is going on."
They all looked at Porthos, who said, "She had everything figured out pretty quickly." In response to the startled expressions that swept across the faces of his companions, he said, "The walls of that house were not so thick that she could not hear much of what was discussed. With the many surprises that occurred within this house during her working hours and the training of Philippe, it would have been difficult for her not to realize what was happening."
Aramis's expression was harsh. "And what she did not figure out on her own, I am quite certain you were more than willing to fill in the gaps."
"There was very little to fill in," Porthos said in his own defense.
D'Artagnan was startled. "She knows everything?"
"She frequently heard Philippe call you 'Father', and she was aware that we were training him for something important. My servants know what the king looks like, and when we reach my estate, they will believe that Philippe is Louis, and will be referring to him as 'His Majesty'. She would have thought that very strange without knowing why."
"So you took it upon yourself, without consulting the rest of us, to tell her? Porthos, have you no idea how dangerous this is?" Aramis asked, his voice and face harsh. "Philippe's life and D'Artagnan's are at stake here! This is very serious!"
"She can be trusted completely," Porthos assured them. "She will tell no one of anything that transpired among us. She has not even told her family of the things she knows. They know only that we are leaving for my estate today, and that she will be accompanying me as my personal cook. She has not told a soul, nor will she."
"She had better not," Athos said, quietly stripping the leaves from a fallen twig. "Or I will throttle her myself."
"She is not a threat to us or to D'Artagnan and Philippe," Porthos said firmly. "You have my word on that."
"And mine as well," spoke a feminine voice from the direction of the bushes.
Everyone turned toward her. She had apparently overheard most, if not all, of the conversation.
"Come here, woman," Aramis said, sternly.
She moved to Porthos's side, and he placed a protective arm around her shoulders.
"What do you have to say about this?" the priest asked.
"I assure you, I have no loyalty to Louis. Until we moved to the village, my family and friends suffered great hardship under the rule of the current king. My father lost our farm because Louis confiscated our crops, and we could not pay the taxes that he levied upon us. We were left destitute. After Father joined the Order, we moved to the village, and there we were able to make a living, but there are still so many more who suffer terribly at his hands. I feel honored to be a part of this transition. I have told no one the things I overheard while in your service, nor will I ever." She lifted her gaze to the man she had fallen in love with. "In doing so, I would risk the love of my Porthos, and I could not bear that."
He pressed his lips affectionately against her temple and drew her closer. "I know you would never betray us."
D'Artagnan was shaking his head, gravely concerned. "Too people know of this. With every person, the risk of detection increases."
"What is done cannot be changed," Aramis said, offering an annoying voice of reason that was answered by resentful expressions from the others.
"Obviously," Athos retorted. He dropped the now naked twig back to the ground where he had found it. "However, knowledge of this must go no farther. It has spread too far already. It stops here." He glanced at the priest. "Aramis?"
Understanding the nature of his query, Aramis withdrew his crucifix from beneath his shirt and took Angelina's hand, placing the holy icon on her palm. "Angelina, you must make a solemn vow before God that you will repeat nothing of what you have learned. The fate of the entire country rests upon that vow. Do you understand?"
She met his gaze, and nodded her understanding. "You have my solemn vow that I will never reveal your secrets to anyone."
Porthos placed his hand over hers. "I give my solemn oath as well."
On impulse, Athos placed his hand on Porthos's, followed by D'Artagnan. Aramis placed his hand on top. "We have made a sacred oath between us. Let not one of us break that oath."
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Vedette parted the heavy drapes of the manor house and peered through the slit toward the road, but there was not yet any sign of the coach. It was very late, nearly midnight, and on Margot's orders, she had lit the lanterns outside the doors to welcome their employer home, but she knew as well as the older housekeeper that the real reason was so that he would not trip and fall in case he was in another of his drunken stupors.
Vedette snorted with disgust at the thought of him tripping and falling on his face on the steps. She had little patience for drunks. After all, hadn't her own dear husband literally drunk himself into an early grave? It was only at Margot's request that she had not sought employment elsewhere, along with most of the other servants.
"Any sign of him yet?" Margot asked, startling her out of her thoughts.
Vedette glanced over her shoulder. "No, not yet. Probably stopped for a nightcap at the brothel. Quite frankly, I do not know what the mistress ever saw in him. His behavior is quite repulsive."
Margot gazed at her friend and colleague for a long moment, understanding the sentiments that had been echoed by each of the long-term employees who had gradually drifted away from the famous Musketeer. "He wasn't always like that," she said in her employer's defense. "At one time, he was one of the best Musketeers, and a good employer. He began to fall into ruin when the mistress passed away."
Another stretch of silence followed before Vedette asked quietly, "Do you miss her?"
"All the time. She governed the estate with a firm hand, but she was always fair. And she loved Monsieur Porthos, so we must continue to look after him for her sake. It is what she would have wanted. Now, are the lanterns still burning outside?"
"Yes. And the rooms have been aired out and the beds turned down." She and Margot had been working since the courier arrived, dusting furniture, scrubbing floors, cleaning windows, washing the linens, and airing out the guest rooms.
Margot smoothed down her dress to make herself presentable to her employer. "Very good. Everything is in order for his arrival."
"Who are these people he is bringing with him?"
"You have met Father Aramis, but I do not believe you have met Monsieur Athos or Captain D'Artagnan."
"I have heard of them. That is three guests. His letter said to have five guest rooms prepared. Who are the other two?"
Margot lifted her plump shoulders in a shrug. "No idea, but they must be very important to go to all this trouble." She paused to cock her ear toward the door. "I believe we shall find out shortly. I think I hear the coach coming up the lane."
Vedette parted the drapes again. Sure enough, the large black coach pulled by four black horses was trotting up the lane toward the steps. "There is nothing wrong with your ears!" she said. As her colleague had done, she smoothed down her dress and ran her hand over her hair, making certain that she was presentable. "Ready?" she asked.
"Yes."
Vedette opened the front door, and stepped outside with Margot as the coach stopped near the bottom of the steps. Aramis opened the coach door from the inside and emerged from it first, followed by Athos, D'Artagnan, Porthos, a young woman they had never seen before, and then . . . .
Both women gasped as the final traveler appeared in the doorway. Instantly, both women curtseyed deeply to the well dressed young man who stepped regally from the coach.
"Your Majesty!" Margot said, her voice trembling with nervousness.
Philippe glanced at D'Artagnan, who gave a barely perceptible nod, reminding him that the charade would begin at that moment. The young man squared his shoulders and maintained an imperial posture as he glanced at the women, then turned his attention to the manor as if to scrutinize it.
"Yes, Porthos," he said in an aloof manner. "Your estate shall do nicely for my little hunting expedition. You say the game here is abundant?"
"Most abundant, Your Majesty. Herds of deer, as well as pheasant and hares roam freely on my property."
"Excellent. We shall begin tomorrow."
Porthos gave a slight bow. "Consider my home yours, Your Majesty," he replied. "My best room has been prepared for your use."
"Excellent."
Porthos's footman appeared beside the coach to take charge of the luggage, and he immediately bowed when he saw the young king.
"You may bring our luggage inside, and then summon the groom to help the driver care for the horses," Porthos instructed. "See if you can find a room in the servant's quarters for him."
"Yes, Monsieur."
Aramis gestured toward the door. "Shall we go inside, Your Majesty?"
Careful to carry himself erect, Philippe made his way up the stoop and into the foyer, where he stopped to admire the fine tapestries and portraits, but was careful to maintain a neutral expression to hide the fact that he was very impressed with the elaborate manor house that was now owned by the former Musketeer. Never in his entire life had he been inside a house so big or so fine. He knew that everything had formerly belonged to his late wife, but it was still quite an accomplishment, in Philippe's eyes.
"Are you hungry?" Margot asked as she followed them inside. "I could prepare something –"
"We have eaten," Aramis said brusquely. "I think His Majesty simply wishes to retire."
"Yes, I am very tired," Philippe said.
"This way, Your Majesty," Porthos said. "I will see you to your room." To the two housekeepers, he added, "Wait here. I shall have instructions for you." Then he led the way up the stairs and down a long corridor toward a closed door at the end of the hallway. Porthos paused before the door, and his hand lovingly stroked the doorknob before opening it. "My late wife resided in these chambers. I have had no desire to reside here since, but it is the finest area in the house, and should suit your needs perfectly."
Philippe stepped into the room with the complete understanding that this chamber was sacred to the former Musketeer. Just inside the doorway was a small greeting room. Through a second set of doors was the large sitting room, where the baroness had undoubtedly spent many hours reading or playing the harp which still occupied its position in the corner. Chairs and lounges were placed in decorative positions, and a shelf contained books that must have been her favorites. An ornamental desk still contained the writing tablets on which she must have issued orders to the servants.
Porthos opened another set of doors, and Philippe heard him utter a low sigh as he viewed her bedchamber. "She was a good woman," Porthos said, quietly. "I still miss her."
"I will treat her chambers with great respect," Philippe promised.
Porthos placed a large but gentle hand on the younger man's shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. "I know you will. It is good that these rooms will be used again. The maids keep them clean, but other than that they have been shut up ever since . . . Well, I will leave you now to get settled in. If you need anything, anything at all, please do not hesitate asking for it."
"Thank you, Porthos."
With a last longing look at the empty bedchamber, Porthos strode from the room. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis were waiting in the corridor with Angelina. He indicated which room each of them should stay in, then took Angelina by the arm. "Come with me, my dear. I must introduce you to my servants."
The pair walked back down the stairs to the foyer, where Margo and Vedette were waiting. Both women noticed the man's casual step, steady hands, and clear eyes as he approached them with the young woman on his arm.
"Margot and Vedette, my housekeepers, I wish you to meet my fiancée, Mademoiselle Angelina DuLignon."
The introduction shot through the two women like a firebolt, igniting instant objections from both of them that they dared not voice. The exchanged a quick rather hostile glance, which did not go unnoticed by Porthos.
"I know this must be a shock to you both, and I can appreciate how you might think that I am betraying your mistress, for whom you worked long before I came into her life. I have been a lonely man ever since I lost her, and my behavior has been abhorrent. I stand before you a changed man, due largely to this young woman here. It is from her that I found the courage to stop drinking, and I am a much better man for it. I will strive to honor your mistress's memory, while making a new life for myself, and I vow to be a better employer."
Here he paused to allow the two women a chance to speak. They looked at one another again, as if uncertain how to react to this bit of news. Margot decided that now was not the time to vent her opinion on the subject, and decided instead to ask about their surprise guest. "Monsieur Porthos, His Majesty –"
"Yes, I wish I could have forewarned you of his coming, but it was for security's sake that I did not. He wishes to enjoy a few days of hunting and personal solitude, things he cannot obtain at the palace surrounded by his staff, so I suggested that my estate would be a suitable place for him to relax before his grand ball later this week. I was most surprised when he accepted my offer. No one knows that he is here, so we must see to it that no one outside this estate finds out. You must tell no one, is that clear?"
"Yes, Monsieur," the two women chimed.
"And make certain that the footman and the groom are aware of it as well. Tonight, if you please. It cannot wait until morning."
"Yes, Monsieur," Margot said.
"Now, one final thing. My dear Angelina is the best cook in the country, so she will be taking over the cooking duties."
Margot gasped, as if horrified. "But it is not proper for the mistress of the house to –"
"I do not care what is proper. She enjoys cooking and her cooking pleases me, so that is all there is to it. You may retire now."
The two servant women curtseyed to their employer, then turned and made their way to the servant's quarters. Margot's quiet voice could be heard saying to Vedette, ". . . never heard of such a thing!"
Angelina sighed, heavily. "They hate me."
His arm went protectively around her shoulders. "Not you, my dear. They would have reacted the same regardless who I brought home. They are loyal to my late wife, and they believe that I dishonor her by finding someone new on which to bestow my love."
"But especially someone of common blood."
"My dear, I also have common blood, as you called it. They were not overjoyed when the mistress married me. In fact, I dare say they were quite horrified. But they accepted me, and they shall accept you." He gave her a squeeze. "Come, I will see you back to your room."
Together, they walked back up the stairs.