Twenty Two
After breakfast the next morning, on the pretense of taking the king for a hunt on the property and with the others acting as body guards, Porthos set up several targets in a field some distance from the manor house, all of them made of tightly packed straw with which to catch the lead balls that Philippe would be firing at them. The targets, covered in old cloth sacks to hold the straw in place, were of varying sizes to represent different types of game, and were hung by ropes from the limbs of a solitary tree in the middle of the meadow.
"The king uses two types of muskets," Porthos explained to Philippe as he reached into his pouch for a lead ball. "And you must master both of them quickly, so we must work very hard. We will start with the long musket, as this is the best one for the hunt. Louis sometimes carries a pistol for self defense, but he uses a long barrel for hunting, as it allows for greater accuracy."
"Louis does not load his own weapons," D'Artagnan cautioned. "Once his weapon is fired, he passes it to an aid, who reloads for him. When hunting, the aid will have several muskets. While Louis is using one, the aid will be reloading another. But it is still good that you know how it is done, just in case you ever find yourself in a position where it becomes necessary. It is always best to be prepared."
"Does my brother not know how?" Philippe asked.
"He most likely knows how, but it is manual labor, and the king does not do manual labor."
Philippe watched attentively while Porthos stood the musket on its stock and demonstrated the procedure to load the musket. Now that he was sober, his hands were steady and his eyes were clear, and the weapon was quickly and accurately loaded. When it was ready, the former Musketeer hefted the weapon and said, "Better stand back just a bit."
Philippe moved back several steps and watched while Porthos sighted down the long barrel, and pulled the trigger. A large puff of smoke was ejected from the powder, and the report was so loud that Philippe jumped and stumbled backward into Athos, who grasped his arms to steady him. The straw target leaped on the end of its rope as the ball ripped through it.
Porthos laughed, good-naturedly at the young man's jumpiness. "Yes, it is startling the first time you hear it up close, but you will grow accustomed to it." He passed the weapon to him. "Now, you try."
Curious to see the result of the shot, Aramis jogged toward the target to examine the round hole in the cloth wrapping. "Dead center," he announced as he rejoined them. "You are still as good as you ever were."
"Was there any doubt?" Porthos asked, but there was confidence in his voice, not arrogance.
As the smoke from Porthos's shot drifted away, Philippe carefully loaded the musket under the watchful eye of the four friends, then placed the stock against his shoulder as Porthos had showed him, and lifted the barrel. It was heavier than it looked, and it was difficult to hold it steady.
"Why does he hunt?" he asked as he tried to steady the swaying barrel. "He must surely have others to procure food for the palace. He doesn't need to go out and get it for himself."
"Pheasant hunting is considered a manly sport, a gentleman's sport," Aramis explained. "While it is true that many people must hunt to put food on the table, Louis and other royals and nobles engage in the activity simply for pleasure. As for the food on his own table, he has no idea where it comes from, nor does he care."
"The truth is, he does not hunt all that much, these days," D'Artagnan told him. "Four-legged game has been replaced by the two-legged kind, and he seems to find them more appealing. Still, he does occasionally surprise us with a request to locate a suitable place to hunt for game." Noticing that his son was having difficulty keeping the muzzle steady, he suggested, "Move your left hand forward a bit more."
Philippe slid his hand a little farther up the barrel, and it became steadier. "I used to snare rabbits and other small animals for Yvette, and she would cook it for us. But I never used a musket. I do not believe she even owned one."
"Few women own a musket," Athos said. "That is not a surprise."
Porthos used his hand to indicating the sights. "Now, look through this notch and line up your target with the little bead on the muzzle. When you are ready, you squeeze the trigger slowly and gently."
Philippe sighted and squeezed the trigger as instructed, but in anticipation of the report and the puff of smoke, he did exactly what he knew he was not supposed to do: He closed his eyes, thereby losing sight of his target. They instantly popped open again when the stock slammed into his shoulder with more force than he ever would have expected, and it sent him careening backward, while the ball ripped through the treetop, sending a shower of leaves and twigs filtering down through the limbs.
Porthos had clearly been expecting this, and caught him before he would have fallen, laughing heartily. "Oh, did I forget to tell you that it kicks like a mule?"
Philippe was placed back on his feet by the jovial former Musketeer, and rubbed his aching shoulder. "Perhaps it slipped your mind," he said with a trace of sarcasm, knowing that the musket's recoil had not been forgotten at all.
Porthos laughed even harder in reaction to the young man's comment. "Forgive me, Philippe. I should have warned you."
Smiling, D'Artagnan gently massaged his son's shoulder. "Do not take offense, Philippe. I believe that is a private joke among most people when instructing others on how to shoot. My father did not tell me either."
"Nor did mine," Porthos agreed. "I could not resist continuing the tradition."
"I suppose I missed the target," Philippe said.
"Indeed," Aramis told him. "The ball took off some small limbs in the top of the tree. You must keep your eyes open so that you can see what you are aiming at."
"I know. I tried, but they seemed to close of their own power."
"You will control that urge," Porthos told him. "Reload and try again."
Resolutely, Philippe reloaded the musket, sighted once again, and pulled the trigger. Again, his eyes snapped shut, but this time he heard the dull thud as the ball slammed into the tree trunk. Prepared this time for the musket's recoil, he managed to take only a single step backward to maintain his balance.
The four friends looked toward the tree, scrutinizing the small round hole that was bored into the widest part of the trunk. "Well, it was closer than the wild shot in the treetop," Athos said.
"Try again," Porthos ordered.
Reminded of his father's relentless persistence on the day of his first riding lesson, Philippe reloaded the musket and repeated the process. This time, there was absolutely no sound of the bullet striking anything. It had simply vanished.
"Missed," Porthos teased.
Again and again, Philippe loaded and fired, and by the time the pouch was empty of lead balls, he had managed to clip the edge of the target several times.
"Well done, Philippe, well done," Porthos praised.
The soon-to-be king lowered the musket, and slowly rubbed his aching shoulder. "That is harder than I realized. I had a tremendous amount of respect for the Musketeers before, but an even greater one now."
"Your shoulder hurts?" D'Argagnan asked.
Philippe nodded. It ached terribly, but he did not want to complain.
D'Artagnan seemed to understand. "I think you need a break now. We will return to the house to rest." He glanced up at the sky. "It is past lunchtime anyway."
They walked back to the edge of the bluff where they had tethered their horses.
"Will it not look peculiar for us to have been hunting all morning and not bring something back?" Philippe asked. "They must have heard the shots at the house."
"That is why I chose this location to practice," Porthos said. "The bluff is high enough that it blocks the sound. They will not have heard anything at the house, and even if they did, we will simply tell the truth; that we were practicing before embarking on an actual hunt."
"We will need to make some more balls before we go out again," Aramis said, holding up the empty pouch as evidence. "That will take much of the afternoon."
"Then we will go out again tomorrow."
They mounted their horses and rode back to the house, but a few hours after lunch, while Porthos and Athos were pouring lead into the molds to make new musket balls, D'Artagnan requested that the black gelding be brought to him.
"You are leaving so soon?" Philippe asked, disappointed.
"It is time," his father replied. "I must return to the palace and learn what has transpired during my absence. And I must alert your mother that you have been brought safely to Paris."
"I will be glad to see her."
D'Artagnan smiled. "You cannot begin to imagine how eager she is to see you, as well."
Aramis was seated casually on the lounge with his feet propped up. "D'Artagnan, while Porthos and Athos work with Philippe, I will ride over to the residence tomorrow to see what needs to be done to secure it for Louis."
"Good. We need to devise a method of contact, in the event that I discover a better way to make the exchange, or if situations necessitate the changing of our plans."
"I have already seen to that," ARamis replied. "Go to the Cathedral and ask for a priest named Pasquier."
"Pasquier," D'Artagnan repeated, committing the name to memory.
"He is one of my assistants, and very active in the Jesuit order. I have informed him of where I am, and he will get a message to me. Likewise, I will use him if I need to communicate with you."
"I will see you in a few days, then." He stood up and gathered his gear, which he had left at the door in anticipation of his departure.
Philippe stood up. "I will see you out."
Together, father and son walked through the massive corridors toward the front door, passing Vedette, who was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. She quickly stood up to curtsey to her king as he passed, and he dipped his head in a brief nod of acknowledgement as they walked by. He was careful to walk erect and poised, and when they reached the door, he waited while D'Artagnan opened the door for him.
"I will see you in a few days, Your majesty," the Musketeer captain said as they stepped through it. He pulled it closed behind him.
The groom was waiting near the stoop with the gelding, and D'Artagnan took the reins from him, and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. The man bowed to Philippe, then hurried away, seemingly very uncomfortable in the presence of his ruler.
The two men then stood facing each other, reluctant to part.
"I would like very much to embrace you, but the risk of being seen is too great," D'Artagnan said, his voice low.
"There will be plenty of time for that later," Philippe promised. "I will miss you."
"It is only for a few days, and then we will be united as a family; you, your mother, and I."
"I look forward to it."
D'Artagnan mounted the horse and gazed down at his son for several moments. "Take care, Your majesty," he said. He placed his fist against his chest, a silent pledge of loyalty. He gathered his reins and cantered a short distance away, then reined in the gelding and whirled around to face the house. He lifted one hand in a wave, then wheeled the horse around and cantered out of sight.
Philippe stood quietly watching the now-empty road that D'Artagnan had taken, unaware that Athos had stepped outside behind him and was watching. The older man could easily see the nervousness in his posture at being separated from his father at such a critical time.
"You must have confidence in yourself, Philippe," he said in his typically quiet voice.
Philippe turned around quickly, surprised to find him there.
The former Musketeer continued, "The blood of D'Artagnan flows through your veins. Draw your strength and your courage from that, and always know that the four of us will be with you."
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Upon reaching the city, D'Artagnan cantered the black horse at a leisurely pace through the streets of Paris. Mounted on a different horse and wearing civilian clothing afforded him anonymity, but the fine steed, his erect posture, and his well-made clothing gave him the appearance of a wealthy noble, and he caught several decidedly unfriendly glances from the poor residents he passed. On impulse, he tossed a few coins to one particularly poor looking woman with five small children, but even as he did, he knew it would not help them much. Picking up the scattered coins, she called after him, "Bless you, Your Lordship!"
When he finally reached the palace gates, he pulled the black gelding to a halt. Recognizing that it had returned home, it reared and took several walking steps on its hind legs, eager to return to its paddock. They presented a magnificent image to anyone who might have been watching, the handsome Musketeer and the spirited horse. D'Artagnan easily maintained his balance, and when the horse's front hooves returned to the ground, he sat still for several minutes observing the richness of the king's palace.
It stood in all its regal splendor, a huge royal residence with many formal rooms, lush gardens, fountains, and other fineries that most people of the country would never witness, while just outside the gates, people lived in squalor and poverty, struggling day to day just to feed and clothe their families. The contrast was nothing short of obscene.
Soon, Philippe would be residing inside that magnificent home, and D'Artagnan experienced a twinge of guilt and regret that he must sacrifice one son in favor of the other. As difficult as it was, there was no turning back. The wheels had been set in motion for the exchange. It was the right thing to do for the country and even for Louis, for he was still convinced that eventually his son would fall to an assassin. With Philippe's sense of right and wrong, he reminded himself that the younger twin would be a better king than his brother had been. It would be difficult for Louis to accept, especially at first, but in the end, he hoped his elder son would accept his fate.
Taking up the reins again, he nudged the horse with his heel, and cantered up the lane toward the palace doors. As he neared, he spotted a young man walking up the steps. The immaculate dress, the erect carriage, and the arrogant demeanor could only be that of Louis. The white stallion favored by the young king was being led away by a Musketeer, and D'Artagnan deduced that Louis was returning from a ride around the property.
Hearing the clatter of hoof beats behind him, the young king turned around and watched as the captain of his Musketeers cantered to the foot of the steps and reined the black horse to a halt.
Instantly, a young Musketeer stepped forward to take the horse. "Welcome back, Captain."
"It is good to be back," he replied, dismounting. He turned the reins over to the Musketeer. "Now I remember why I do not like to travel," he added with a smile as he stretched his legs. "Too many hours in the saddle!"
The young Musketeer smiled nervously in response, unaccustomed to exchanging informal pleasantries with his captain. "Yes sir," he replied. "I know what you mean."
Louis walked arrogantly down the steps to face the captain. "You have been gone longer than I expected. Where were you?"
There was an accusatory tone to his voice that told D'Artagnan that the king was probably thinking about the foiled plot against the Jesuits and the fact that it coincided with his trip. "I traveled to Gascony on a family matter," he replied. "Why? Is something wrong?"
Louis looked him carefully in the eye, as if trying to detect a lie. Unable to find anything in his expression that supported his concerns, he said, "In your absence, another attempt was made on my life."
D'Artagnan's surprise and concern was genuine, a fact which was noticed by Louis. "Another attempt?" After the past two weeks in a casual environment with Philippe, D'Artagnan momentarily forgot his place. Reaching forward, he drew aside the front of Louis' gilded coat, searching for evidence of injuries. "Were you harmed?"
Louis instantly stepped back, offended by his familiarity. "You forget yourself, D'Artagnan," he said sharply.
Effectively admonished, D'Artagnan silently chastised himself for his carelessness as he quickly withdrew the hand and bowed his head, respectfully. "Forgive me, your majesty. It is my concern for your well-being that dictates my behavior. I was out of line."
Satisfied, Louis shook his head. "No, I was not harmed. I was well protected by the Musketeers. You have trained them well."
"Was the perpetrator apprehended?"
"Of course. Lieutenant Andre and several of his men successfully captured the assassin."
"A Jesuit?"
"No. At least he does not appear to have any ties to the Jesuits. This one was a local man, apparently discontent with his current station. He somehow managed to get onto the palace grounds before being spotted. I have ordered him to be executed, but it will be done next week, after the ball. I haven't the time to deal with such matters right now." He shifted his attention to the black horse, and D'Artagnan saw intense admiration on Louis' face as he observed the animal.
Its sleek black coat glistened with sweat, making it appear even darker than it was, but even after the journey from Porthos's estate, its head was carried high, its neck gracefully arched. The wavy mane was long and profuse, falling on both sides of its neck, and its tail was long and thick. He walked slowly around the animal, inspecting it carefully, observing how it turned its eye toward him with alertness.
"I do not recall ever seeing this horse before," he said. "You usually ride a gray, do you not?"
"He is from the Musketeer stables, your majesty, and was included in the last procurement of mounts," D'Artagnan told him as he removed his satchel from the saddle. "My gray is no longer young enough for such a lengthy trip, so I elected to ride one of the unassigned horses."
"You have excellent taste in horses, Captain," Louis said, visibly impressed. "He is very handsome. Very handsome indeed. He must have a great deal of stamina to have made such a long journey."
"Yes, I can vouch for that much myself. He has an excellent temperament also; spirited but easily controlled." Sensing that Louis was interested in the horse on a personal level, D'Artagnan decided to help him along, knowing that it would aid Philippe once he ascended to the throne if Louis had already claimed the horse. "A king would look splendid on a horse such as this," he suggested.
"You read my mind, D'Artagnan," Louis said. "It would be a shame to relegate such a magnificent steed to a Musketeer. I have scheduled a hunt two days from now, and my stallion recoils at the sound of the muskets. Has this one been acclimated to the sounds of musket fire?"
"He has, Sire."
"Excellent. Can he be recovered from the trip by then?"
"In two days? That is the day of your ball, is it not?"
"You have been gone for two weeks, D'Artagnan. How did you know about the ball?"
"Plans were underway before I left, your majesty," D'Artagnan reminded him.
Louis nodded. "Yes, I suppose they were. Indeed, that is the day of the ball, but the hunt will be that morning. I am planning to serve pheasant to my guests in the evening. We shall have quite a feast. My chefs will be busy all afternoon!"
"I will have the groom check him for soundness, but I believe he will be rested enough by then."
"Excellent."
Without another word, the young king turned and strode back up the stairs and into the palace.
D'Artagnan turned to the young Musketeer. "Inform the groom that the king has claimed this horse as a second mount, and that he wishes to ride him on the hunt two days from now. Have the horse examined for soundness, and make certain that he is well groomed."
"Yes, sir."
The Musketeer led the horse away toward the stables to carry out his orders.
Shifting his satchel to the other hand, D'Artagnan climbed the stairs and entered the palace via the front door, which was held open for him by a smartly dressed servant. The foyer that stretched out before him was long and wide, and his footsteps echoed on the polished floor as he made his way toward his quarters.
As he took an adjoining corridor, he saw Anne, partially concealed behind a large round column near the corner. She had apparently been waiting for him to enter, for she beckoned him urgently.
Glancing quickly about to make certain they were alone, he followed her behind the ornamental column.
"I saw you arrive," she said softly, so that her voice would not echo inside the large area. She did not add that she had seen him at the gate when the horse had reared, offering her an impressive image of the man she loved that she would cherish forever. "Is he here?"
He glanced quickly around again, verifying that no one else had entered the corridor. "He is at Porthos's estate outside the city. Athos and Aramis are also with him."
"I prayed that you and the others would have a safe journey. I have been so afraid that something would happen."
He smiled, gently, warmed by her concern for his welfare. "Nothing is going to happen," he assured her. "We have thought this through very carefully. They are making final preparations on their costumes and masks. Aramis wants to bring him inside the palace during the ball, when his face will be covered."
"I saw you speaking with Louis outside. Did he tell you about the assassination attempt?"
"Yes. That, more than anything else, proves to me that we must get Louis off the throne. It was a civilian who made the attempt, apparently someone not associated with the Jesuits. The people hate him, Anne. For his own safety, he must step down. If not, I fear we will lose him."
"I know. I love my son, D'Artagnan. I do not want harm to come to him, on the throne or off."
He caressed her soft cheek with his fingertips. "Do not worry, Anne. All will be well, as Aramis says. I will look after both of them to see that no harm comes to either of them. Trust me on that."
"I do trust you," she assured him.
He glanced about the corridor again, then leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. He would have preferred a longer, more leisurely kiss, but it was too risky. ""Meet me at midnight in the chapel. There are things we need to discuss." Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, "I love you."
"I love you, too," she responded.
Leaving her, he strode toward his room, passing the guard who stood rigidly at attention at the head of the corridor that lead to the private residences of the royal family. The guard was not allowed to move, but D'Artagnan saw him avert his eyes briefly in acknowledgement of the much-revered captain.
The door to his quarters was open, as it usually was during the day, so he went directly inside. His private quarters served as both his office and his bedroom, with the bed concealed by heavy draperies during the day. The drapes were still closed, just as he had left them, and the desk which sat in front of it was also exactly as he had left it.
Lieutenant Andre had been left in charge of the everyday duties of the captain, and he was there when D'Artagnan entered, signing requisition forms, but in his respect for his captain, he was clearly reluctant to use the desk. Instead, he had moved some of the military accoutrements from the table against the wall, and was seated behind it, using it as a desk. He looked up when he heard footsteps enter the room.
He instantly leaped to his feet. "Captain! Welcome back!" He glanced quickly at displaced items on the table. "I hope you don't mind that I moved things around a bit. I needed a place to work."
"No, not at all," he replied. Without opening the barrier that concealed his private area from his subordinates, he reached through the slit where the drapes met in the center, and tossed the satchel on his bed. Then he unfastened his cloak, and removed it. It was hung on a peg on the wall behind the door. "I understand you averted another assassination attempt."
"Yes, Captain. It happened three days ago. A civilian somehow managed to gain access to the property after dark, since it is easier to conceal oneself in the shadows."
"After the gates were locked?" D'Artagnan asked. "Were they not properly latched?"
"They were latched. We believe he gained access at the rear of the property, and approached the palace, where he found an open window and simply crawled in. I saw him hiding behind one of the columns and sounded the alarm. He never got near the king, but he had a musket pistol, so his intent was quite clear. He surrendered without incident."
D'Artagnan was greatly troubled by this. "We must double our security efforts at the masked ball," he instructed. "That was a little too close. You did an excellent job, Lieutenant. I am pleased that the king was left in such capable hands."
Andre felt his cheeks warm at the praise from his commanding officer, the man he had strived to be like his entire life. "I appreciate your faith in me, Captain."
D'Artagnan began unbuttoning his coat, prompting Andre to begin gathering up his papers, believing that was the signal for him to leave.
"I spoke with the king when I arrived," D'Artagnan said as he slipped off the coat and hung it with the cloak. "He informed me that he has scheduled a hunt two days from now, the day of the ball in fact."
"Yes Captain," Andre replied.
"After that assassination attempt, we must be extra cautious. Has he informed you where the hunt will take place?"
"No, Captain, he seems to be keeping that information to himself, at least for the moment."
"I will speak to him tomorrow. I will require a map of the area, so that I can work on positioning the Musketeers."
"Yes, Captain. Once we know where it is, I will see about securing a map." He picked up his papers. "I will leave you alone, now. I'm sure you want to rest after your long journey."
"Close the door on your way out," D'Artagnan said.
Andre slipped through the door and pulled it closed behind him, leaving the tired captain alone.
With a sigh, D'Artagnan pulled open the drapes that concealed his bed, and dropped the satchel down on the floor beside it. Then he stretched out full length on the bed to rest.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
At midnight, D'Artagnan, dressed once again in uniform, opened the door to his chamber and stepped into the corridor. It was dimly lit by several candles mounted on wall sconces, and in the flickering light, he made his way to the head of the corridor and passed beneath the entryway. Two guards stood at rigid attention on either side, protecting the access to the royal chambers, but they ignored him as he walked toward the palace entrance. It was not unusual for him to come and go at any hour of the day or night in the service of the king, and they were accustomed to his occasional late-night tour of the grounds.
Once outside, he made his way along the path toward the chapel with the moon lighting his way. It was a beautiful night with stars shining brightly overhead. Inwardly, he wished that circumstances were such that he and Anne could openly share a private walk in the starlight, but in the critical situation in which they had found themselves, he did not have time to dwell on such luxury, so he forced those thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrated on the matter at hand; eliminating complications that might present a problem to Philippe once he assumed the throne.
As was his habit, his alert blue eyes were constantly moving, darting toward each shadow in search of anything that might be threatening to him or to the residents of the palace, but his search turned up nothing of concern.
When he reached the door to the chapel, he paused to scrutinize the surrounding area once more, but the night was quiet and peaceful. It seemed that only he and Anne and the palace guards remained awake. Grasping the door handle, he opened it and stepped inside.
The interior of the structure was lit by a single candle burning on one of the pedestals, but he did not immediately see Anne. Quietly, he closed the door to wait.
"Is it you?" asked a feminine voice from the shadows near the confessionals. He recognized the voice immediately, and understood that her generic query was offered in case the priest or an assistant had entered, so that he would not be identified as the person she was expecting.
"Yes, it is I," he replied.
She stepped from the shadows, and moved toward him. Dressed in a dark gown with her long hair loose and tumbling down her back, she was the vision of his most intimate dreams.
"Are we alone?" he asked.
"Yes. I lit a candle and checked the confessionals, but no one else is here."
He met her halfway, and they clasped hands as their eyes locked. A moment later, their lips met in a longer kiss than the brief one they had shared in the corridor. When they separated, she leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder, content to be in his arms.
"For so many years, I have longed to feel your arms around me," she confessed as her own arms went around his waist, holding herself against him as if she might never have the opportunity to embrace him again.
He rested his cheek against her hair, stroking the shimmering length of it with his hand. "As have I," he agreed. "Often, I have wondered if you still felt the same way as I. Sometimes, I would see you at your window, but you would immediately move away."
"I so desperately wanted to see you, but I feared you or someone else would see into my heart whenever I looked at you," she explained. "So when you noticed that I was watching, I would flee." Tears welled in her eyes. "Oh, D'Artagnan! Why has fate been so cruel to us? I never wanted to marry Louis, but if I had not married him, I never would have known you, the love of my life. And now my husband is dead; I am a widow, yet still we cannot be together!"
He heard the tears in her voice, and it tore at his heart. "Perhaps we cannot be together in the way we would like, but knowing that you love me as I love you lifts my heart in ways I cannot describe. I, too, long for what can never be."
An owl hooted outside the chapel, making both of them start, and they looked quickly toward the door as they broke their embrace, reminded that the risk of being discovered was always imminent.
He sighed heavily with the hopelessness of their situation. "We mustn't linger too long here. If your attendant should awaken and find you gone, she might come looking for you."
She nodded and brushed a hand quickly across her cheek to remove the wetness that had spilled from her eyes. "I know, but I am so grateful for any moment that I can share with you that it is worth the risk."
"Anne, I have a concern that requires your attention. We have reached a critical point in our objective, and there are potential obstacles that must be cleared for Philippe's safety. I must ask about Francois, Louis' valet. I fear that when Philippe takes the throne, this man may be a serious threat, for he knows many of the intimate details of the king, and he, more than anyone else, may notice differences."
"This is true," she agreed. "Francois helps dress him. Should he be dismissed?"
"He has done a good job for the king, and it would raise suspicions if he were to be suddenly terminated from his position. I was thinking perhaps a promotion could be offered, something of higher standing, and then bring in a new valet to the king. Are there openings within the palace that might accommodate him?"
"No. All positions are currently filled."
"Then perhaps a new position could be created for him."
She shook her head. "I know of no position that could be created for him. You must understand, I am not involved in any aspect of governing the country."
"I know, but you were raised in the Court, and I had hoped you might offer some suggestions on what we might do with this man."
She shook her head again, worry evident in her eyes. "I can think of nothing. This will be dangerous for Philippe, will it not? Will this change your plans?"
"We cannot alter the plans unless absolutely necessary. Francois will have to be dealt with in some way." He paused, briefly. "I know you have not seen the twins since they were born, but at that time, did you notice any differences between them? Any birthmarks? Anything odd that Francois would focus on?"
"I only saw him for a few moments right after he was born. They took him away, and I never saw him again. I am sorry. I wish I could be of more help ---"
He waved away her apology. "No, it was not your fault that your child was taken from you. What of Louis? Does he have any unusual identifying marks?"
"No, none that I am aware of. You probably see more of him than I do, and I have yet to see Philippe, so you are probably more familiar with both of them than I. However, to know private details about the king, he would have to be looking very closely, and I doubt that Louis would permit him to openly stare at him in such a way."
He stroked his mustache, thoughtfully. "Perhaps I am worrying too much about this. I have heard it said that when you stand twins side by side, you will notices differences, but if you separate them, it is almost impossible to tell which is which unless you are familiar with both. It is possible, if he and Philippe are similar enough, that Francois may not notice anything different between them. They look more alike than most sets of twins that I have encountered."
"If he did notice that something was different, what do you suppose he would do?"
D'Artagnan shrugged. "Well, since I am head bodyguard, it is probable that he would come to me if he suspected anything amiss."
"But why would he suspect anything?" she asked. "He does not know that Louis has a twin brother."
"That is true. Anything he might observe could be passed off as something he simply had not noticed before." He gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead with his fingertip and smiled. "Thank you, Anne. You have eased my mind considerably. But now, you must return. I will watch from the door to make sure you get there safely."
They kissed again, then she opened the door to the chapel and set out into the night. He watched from the door until she reached the palace, then decided it might appear suspicious if he went inside right behind her, so he turned toward the stable to check on his gray stallion.
He had been to the stable many times over the years, but somehow it had a different feel to it at night. The horses had settled, and occasionally he heard the stamping of a hoof or the swishing of a long tail breaking the silence. He was a bit surprised to find a lantern burning inside the long livestock building, but the sound of voices from the far corner indicated that someone else was checking on a faithful friend, so he stepped inside and approached the stall in which his stallion was kept.
The animal was lying down on its belly, its legs folded beneath, but when it saw him it uttered a low nicker of greeting and scrambled noisily to its feet and shook the straw from its coat.
"Hello, my friend," said to the horse. "It has been a few weeks."
The stallion nuzzled his sleeve as if to express its affection for him then, as stallions will, it nipped his arm.
"That was not a nice thing to do!" D'Artagnan scolded, rubbing the arm with his other hand. "I know you are happy to see me, so why do you greet me by biting me? I will have a bruise there!"
The stallion tossed its heavy gray mane and snorted. D'Artagnan ran his hand along the warmth beneath the mane, fondly stroking the finely arched neck, unaware for a moment that he was being watched. When he realized that he was not alone, he turned to see that Lieutenant Andre had apparently been watching for several minutes, for his lips were turned up in a smile.
"Forgive me, Captain," he apologized. "It is not every day that I get to see my commanding officer playing with his horse."
"You are up late," D'Artagnan said.
"I was having trouble sleeping, so I decided to come outside to check on the horses." He jerked his head toward the rear stalls. "One of the men is here also; his horse is a bit colicky, so he will remain until he is confident that it will survive. It would appear that you were having difficulty sleeping as well."
"Sometimes, I just like to walk outside at night. It is quiet and peaceful, a good time to be alone and think."
"Yes, it is," Andre agreed, unaccustomed to making small-talk with his commanding officer.
"Andre, the Musketeers must be at their best for the hunt and the ball. Have the men on the parade ground at eight o'clock in the morning. I want to drill with muskets and swords."
Andre gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. "It will be done, Captain. I had better retire. Good night."
"Good night."
After Andre had left for his chamber, D'Artagnan lingered for several minutes with his horse, his mind too active to think about sleep, for the events that would transpire over the next two days would determine the fate of the country.