Twenty Three
Shortly after dawn the next morning, D'Artagnan assembled the men in the Musketeers' yard to work on musket drills and sword practice as he prepared the men to guard the king during his hunt. Most important, in his opinion, were the musket drills, especially in the aftermath of the latest attempt on Louis' life. Individual shots were practiced as well as collective volleys, and the air was filled with the sound of musket fire, drawing startled glances from travelers passing by the area.
In addition to the surrounding community, everyone inside the palace was aware of the popping of muskets, and many a maid jumped in fright whenever a volley was released. Even Louis fumbled his fork during breakfast in reaction to one of the startling barrages, sending it clattering onto his plate, and at the same moment one of the young maids gasped in fright and dropped a serving platter directly behind him, adding to his alarm.
He whirled around in his chair with a reproachful glare, and she shrank to the floor in fear. "Forgive me, your majesty!" she pleaded. "I did not mean to drop it! I was so startled by the guns!"
Ignoring the frightened girl's pleas, he turned to Claude, his senior advisor, and demanded, "What is going on out there?"
Standing just inside the door with a stack of parchments requiring the king's signature in hand, Claude stepped forward with a bow. "It is the Musketeers, your majesty. Captain D'Artagnan is conducting a special practice session. The hunt is coming up tomorrow, and he wants to make certain that the men are in top form to protect you."
The scowl on Louis' brow deepened. Although it was a legitimate concern, practicing so close to the palace grounds was rarely performed because of the resulting noise level. "I wish he would locate a more suitable place for them to practice," he complained. Turning back to the maid who was still kneeling on the floor, he said, "Clean that mess up, and then find something else to do until the practice if over. I do not want you or any other others to destroy anything."
"Yes, your majesty," she said as she began picking up the dropped items as quietly as she could.
Another abrupt volley made her jump, and she nearly dropped the item she had just picked up again. Louis was a demanding employer under the best of circumstances, but the noise coming from the Musketeers' yard was making him noticeably irritable. She returned all the fallen items to the platter, and hastily removed them and herself from the dining hall.
Louis picked up his fork again, intending to resume his meal. Claude backed up to the wall again to patiently wait until his monarch had completed his breakfast before presenting the documents to him. Another volley shattered the momentary quiet, and the senior advisor cringed. Beside him, the senior server pressed a hand to his temple, as if nursing a throbbing headache.
"It sounds like a battle going on out there!" Louis complained. He was growing immensely weary of the startling noises that continued to resound throughout the palace, and with great annoyance, he pushed back his chair and stood up. "It is impossible to enjoy my meal with all that noise. Send something to my chamber later." Leaving the table, he brushed past his advisor as the dining room staff hurried to clear the table.
With Claude trotting along behind, urging him to sign the documents, Louis made his way through the corridors toward the window closest to the Musketeers' barracks where he could observe the training maneuvers and see for himself that the inconvenience to him was achieving a goal. He was surprised to find his mother already there, watching them.
"Mother?" he asked as he approached, drawing an unusually startled glance from her. Unaware of the true nature of her uneasiness, he passed off her discomfort as a result of the musket fire, never realizing that her interest was with one man in particular. "Are the muskets disturbing you?"
"If the practice is to protect my son from harm, then I will gladly tolerate the noise," she replied.
Louis moved closer to the window and watched as the men reloaded their weapons with speed and efficiency. Aiming at the targets, they fired another volley. The sound was much louder at the window, and Claude, who was terrified of guns, nearly jumped right out of his skin, necessitating the readjustment of his curly gray wig.
Louis laughed delightedly at his advisor's distress. "A bit jumpy there, Claude?"
"Please, your majesty, we must get these documents signed," Claude pleaded, eager to be away from that window. "They must go out this morning."
Louis raised his hand to silence him, his attention directed at the target at which the Musketeers had just fired. The lead balls had ripped it to shreds. "They are quite good," he remarked. "Very accurate. See how the center of the target is virtually destroyed, while the outer edge of it remains intact?"
"They are the very best, your majesty. Forgive me, Sire, but these documents are quite important."
Louis did not answer, his gaze settling on the Musketeer captain who walked among his troops through the drifting powder smoke, giving directions to the men that could not be heard inside the palace. It seemed that the musket practice was finally over, for the men lowered their weapons and stood rigidly at attention. D'Artagnan was clearly a born leader, and their awe and respect for him was palpable, even from the distance. "He is an outstanding leader, wouldn't you agree?"
"He is a legend," Claude agreed. "Respected by everyone. Indeed, he was the only choice to lead the Musketeers." He indicated the unsigned documents once again. "Sire, I beg you."
With the exercise over, Louis quickly lost interest. "Very well," he responded. "Come with me, and we will sign your important documents." Turning, he strode down the corridor with the faithful advisor on his heels.
As the two men's footfalls faded away, Anne turned her attention back to the men on the parade ground, her eyes settling once again on D'Artagnan. As if aware that he was being watched, he turned and looked directly at the window. Instantly, he froze, his gaze fixed upon her beauty. She was framed there, almost like a portrait, and he could not suppress the slight smile that formed on his lips. She smiled in response, then turned away from the window.
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After lunch, D'Artagnan ordered all the men to carefully clean and check their weapons in preparation for the king's hunt. He then withdrew to his desk to go over requisitions and orders that had occurred during his absence, applying his approval to those which were required, and reviewing those which Lieutenant Andre had approved. Eventually, he became aware of a presence, and looked up to find Louis standing in the doorway watching him, intently.
Laying down his quill on the document he was reviewing, the captain immediately rose to his feet, and waited for the king to reveal the purpose for the visit.
Now that he had been seen and the appropriate reaction attained, Louis stepped inside and approached the desk. "D'Artagnan. I, and everyone in the palace, heard you drilling the men with the muskets this morning." His words and tone of voice were mildly reproachful.
"I hope we did not disturb you, your majesty," he replied. "With the hunt scheduled for tomorrow morning, I wanted to make certain that every man's marksmanship is at its highest level. We cannot be too careful."
"I can appreciate that, but it did indeed disturb my breakfast. And I understand and fully appreciate your dedication to protecting your king. However, since the servants are inclined to drop things when startled, it might be advisable to find a place away from the palace during your next such practice."
"As you wish, Sire, but in this case the practice was held on the grounds intentionally as a demonstration of our firepower to the general public. It is my hope that exhibiting our strength might help to discourage anyone who might be nearby watching and who might be inclined to consider harming you."
Louis had not considered this, but he was aware that the public passed before the gates at all hours of the day, and any one of them could be plotting against him, looking for weaknesses that could be utilized to their advantage. "Very clever," he said, approvingly. "Practicing in close proximity to the palace, where you are certain to be seen and heard by others. You continue to impress me with your cunning."
D'Artagnan shrugged away the rare compliment. "Sire, I have been intending to ask where you plan to hunt, so that I might send some men over there beforehand to secure the area."
Louis folded his arms across the gilded embroidery on his chest with a mild scowl. "D'Artagnan, I do not want to be surrounded by a platoon of Musketeers during my hunt! I am adamant about this, for they will scare away all the game."
D'Artagnan bit back the reply that he wanted to make, reminding himself that this was Louis, not Philippe, and that he could not be as straightforward in his objections. All he could do was attempt to reason with him. "Your majesty, my duty is to protect you at all times, and I cannot adequately do this without making certain that the areas you intend to visit are prepared for your arrival."
"As I said before, your dedication is admirable, but I must be provided ample room to enjoy my recreation," he insisted. "I do not leave the palace grounds very often these days for leisure activities. It is the wish of your king that his hunt is not disturbed by platoons of Musketeers running all over the property searching for phantoms."
D'Artagnan was growing as impatient with the conversation as Louis, but unlike the young king, he was not permitted to express it. However, there was a trace of offense in his voice when he said, "Your majesty, neither I nor my men are in the habit of chasing phantoms. Threats to your life must be taken very seriously, and our purpose is to prevent anyone or anything from bringing harm to you."
"And you have done an admirable job, but I expect you to do it discreetly and in such a way that it will not disturb the game. To answer your question, I have received a gracious invitation from Regnault LaCroix to use his property for my hunt. He claims that his estate is home to some of the largest pheasants in France, and I intend to find out if he is speaking truthfully or if he is simply a braggart. I am hoping for the former," he added with a smile. "I have not enjoyed a good hunt in some time."
D'Artagnan felt a twinge of concern that was carefully concealed. LaCroix was Porthos's nearest neighbor, and the unfenced portions of their properties bordered each other. It would be a devastating blow to their cause if someone should stay too near Porthos's estate and encounter Philippe there.
While he kept his face expressionless, something must have flickered in his eyes, for Louis gave a knowing nod. "Yes, it is near the estate of your old friend Porthos, is it not?"
"It is, your majesty." Casually, he picked up the quill he had placed on the desk top and returned it to its holder. "Has there been any word of him during my absence?"
"No, there hasn't." He was watching D'Artagnan closely for reaction, but saw no indication of uneasiness in the older man's countenance. "I am a bit surprised that you have not inquired about him before now."
"I have been back less than twenty four hours, your majesty." He gestured toward the rather cluttered desk. "Lieutenant Andre has done an excellent job covering my desk during my absence, but there is still much work to catch up on in addition to preparing the men for your hunt. I have had little time to think of other things."
Louis' eyes fell to the papers on the desk. "Yes, so there has. I sent Lieutenant Andre out to Porthos's estate last week to inquire whether his servants had been in contact with him. He reported that they had not. He also indicated that they appear to have a distinct lack of respect for him, and he was quite certain that they answered truthfully. Curious that his servants think so little of him, but then I am told he is a drunk." He observed the captain's face carefully, searching for any indication that he might be concealing the whereabouts of the three former Musketeers, but saw nothing that aroused suspicion. "I have not forgotten that your friend Athos made an attempt on my life. I know that he is your friend, but I still want him apprehended, as well as the others, and brought in for interrogation."
"Yes, your majesty," D'Artagnan replied.
Louis moved closer and lowered his voice, cryptically. "What are they up to, D'Artagnan? Why have all three of them disappeared together? You know them better than anyone else. What is your best guess?"
The captain's gaze did not falter. "Well, I cannot say for sure, but were I to wager a guess, I would say that Aramis and Porthos have most likely removed Athos from Paris and have taken him someplace where he might grieve for his son in private, and where they might help him overcome the blame he feels toward you."
Louis nodded slowly, considering the captain's words carefully. The notion that the other two might have escorted Athos out of the city was something he had not considered. "Then you believe they are not a threat to me. That they are instead working in my behalf. Perhaps even protecting me from Athos."
"If this is what they are doing, then their intent would be to protect Athos from the consequences of his behavior," D'Artagnan told him truthfully. "They would not wish to see him executed for assassinating the king."
Louis paused to consider the scenario that the captain was presenting, and found it plausible. "Perhaps you are right, D'Artagnan. I sincerely hope that you are, because if you are wrong and he makes another attempt on my life, I will order him to be executed on the spot. There will be no leniency the next time."
D'Artagnan looked away. The thought of his closest friend being executed was too painful to even contemplate.
The king fell silent for several moments, observing the Musketeer's silent response to his declaration regarding the fate of Athos should he again step over the boundary of acceptable behavior. He found himself wondering where D'Artagnan's loyalty would ultimately lie should the event come to pass. "Do you understand, D'Artagnan?"
He looked up quickly, his eyes meeting those of Louis; eyes that were hard and cold, so different from those of his brother. "I understand, your majesty."
"Good. Now, I wish you to go to the Cathedral and see if they have heard from Father Aramis. I had sent him on a mission prior to the incident with Athos, and I would very much like to know his whereabouts, and if he has obtained the information I requested. The priests have been less than cooperative with the Musketeers I sent to inquire where he has been. Perhaps you, his friend, will be able to obtain information from the priests that the others were not."
D'Artagnan knew all about the mission to locate and kill the leader of the Jesuit Order, for Aramis had told him and the others about it that night in the crypt when he had first revealed that he had a plan to replace Louis. That had been the night he had rejected the idea of betraying his king, declaration which had added fuel to flames of Athos's wrath.
"I will do my best," he replied.
"I will leave you to your work, then. Ease your mind, D'Artagnan. I have purposefully kept the location of my hunt a secret until this moment, so I believe the risk to my life will be minimal. Only you, LaCroix and myself are at this moment aware of it. Remember, I intend to enjoy my hunt without interference from your men." Turning, he strode from the room.
D'Artagnan let out the breath he had been holding, and sank wearily onto his chair again, hoping that their plans did not unravel because of Louis' unfortunate choice of a hunting venue. The close proximity of Porthos's estate would be particularly dangerous for Philippe, for if a musket lesson was planned for the day of the hunt, his men would investigate the sounds of gunfire. He had no choice but to warn them, and Louis had unwittingly made it easy for him to ride to the Cathedral without inciting suspicion.
Removing a blank sheet of parchment from the desk, he dipped his quill in the ink well again and quickly wrote a message to Aramis, relaying the news he had just been told. He signed it with a simple "D", and folded it. Taking up his sealing wax, he held it over the flame of the candle and allowed it to drip onto the flap, but as he picked up his seal to apply it to the wax, he hesitated. His seal was well known, and it would be incriminating if it should fall into the wrong hands. Turning the seal over, he pressed the smooth handle into the wax to distribute it evenly over the edge of the flap without leaving the imprint of his personal seal.
He tucked the letter into his pocket as he strode from the room, and ordered that his horse be brought to the entrance. Mounted once again on the back of his fine stallion, he rode at a brisk canter toward the cathedral.
As usual, the poor and afflicted of the community were gathered near the steps of the cathedral for the small bits of food and medicine that the priests handed out to aid their survival. As he rode up to the foot of the steps and dismounted, he turned a wary eye on the small gathering of people. They watched him with decidedly unfriendly gazes as he tied the stallion to a post and trotted up the steps.
He respectfully removed his plumed hat as he entered the cathedral, and paused to look around searching for someone who might assist him. There were several priests conducting various manners of business, their voices echoing slightly in the cavernous room, but he noticed quickly that one of them seemed to be watching him, so he focused on this particular man, waiting to see if he would assist him. At last, the priest concluded his business, and approached him.
"May I be of assistance to you, Monsieur?"
"I would like to have a word with the priest, Pasquier."
The priest discretely glanced on either side to assure himself that no one else was near enough to overhear. "You are D'Artagnan?" he asked, quietly.
He nodded.
"Come with me."
The priest turned on his heel and strode briskly the opposite direction. D'Artagnan followed, his long stride easily keeping pace with that of the priest, but he had been surprised by the immediate response to his name. Clearly, he had been expected.
The priest led the Musketeer through a maze of corridors that wound their way through the structure. D'Artagnan followed, but he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as a precaution. The priest finally stopped outside a door and looked up and down the corridor before opening it. He beckoned the Musketeer to follow him into the small bedchamber, then closed the door securely behind him. When he turned to face D'Artagnan, he found the Musketeer looking at him warily.
"We will not be overheard here," the priest explained. "I thought it was you when I saw your manner of dress; that of a high ranking Musketeer. Please forgive the secrecy, but Father Aramis instructed me to be on the lookout for you. He says you are a friend of the Order, and that I should assist you any way that I can. I am Pasquier. What can I do for you?"
D'Artagnan hesitated. Even though all indications were that this man was the priest Aramis had instructed him to see, his natural instinct was to be cautious. "How do I know that you are who you say you are?"
The priest did not seem offended. "It appears we must trust one another, for I am at risk also. You could be someone pretending to be the captain, trying to learn the identity of the Jesuit general."
"I could, but I am not."
Pasquier smiled, as if amused. "I am certain that you are who you say you are, just as I am who I say I am, and we both wish to protect our mutual friend."
D'Artagnan responded with a smile of his own, satisfied that the priest was not an imposter. "It is urgent that I get a message to him. He said you would act as liaison."
The priest nodded. "I have been instructed to deliver any message personally to him to keep it from falling into unfriendly hands. What is the message?"
D'Artagnan removed the letter from his pocket and passed it to the priest, who immediately transferred it to an inner pocket of his cassock.
Catching the captain's curious eye, he explained, "I will be traveling as a simple, poor priest offering guidance to those unable to join us for services. No one will know that I am a courier, and no one will bother me because they will know I have no money."
"You saw me when I entered. It seemed that you were expecting me."
"Indeed, Captain. He instructed me to be ready to leave at a moment's notice should you come to me. I will leave at once. Come; I will see you out."
The two men retraced their steps back to the front door of the cathedral, and they made their way down the steps. As D'Artagnan took the reins of the stallion, the priest went to a rather scruffy looking mule that was tethered in a shaded spot nearby and mounted it. After a brief glance, Pasquier turned the mule toward the road which led to Porthos's estate. D'Artagnan watched him for a moment, then cantered back to the palace.
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"Do you think this plan of Aramis's will work?" Porthos asked quietly as he nibbled on one of the delicious pastries that Angelina had prepared for them.
Athos, Porthos, and Philippe were seated in his study with the doors closed against intruders, but they were gathered at the far wall, conversing in quiet tones to avoid being overheard by the few remaining servants. While Porthos and Philippe devoured the pastries, Athos sat by himself near the window, gazing outside at the gently rolling green landscape.
"Well," Athos replied. "Slipping Philippe inside during a masked ball is an excellent idea since everyone's faces will be covered, but I think is risky to assume that Louis will leave the ball when he sees the replicas of the iron mask that Philippe was forced to wear. Louis is not known for being feint of heart."
"So how do you think we should handle this? Everything hinges on Louis leaving the ball so that we can apprehend him."
Athos shook his head, slowly. "I don't know. This is not going to be quite as easy as Aramis thinks, since the king is rarely alone. Even if he does leave the ball, there is no guarantee that a servant or a Musketeer will not follow him. I just hope ---."
The door opened and Aramis strode inside looking very pleased. "I have just returned from the estate of the king's late cousin, and D'Artagnan is correct. It is a suitable place to contain Louis once it has been renovated. The courtyard is very large, large enough to accommodate small gardens with which he might occupy his time, and it already has very high walls around it. It will only require sealing off the gate to make it completely secure."
"You do not think he can get over it?" Athos asked.
"It is the height of two tall men standing one on the other's shoulders, and is smooth with no footholds or handholds. It would require a ladder to get over it. I also broke through a window to gain access to the interior, and found a very nice suite of rooms on the second floor that will do nicely. I will have bars placed on the windows to prevent him from getting out. I am considering having a private stairway installed leading directly to the courtyard, so that he will not be taken through the rest of the house when he wants to go outside. That will provide less opportunity to escape."
Athos nodded, approvingly. "Good idea." He gestured toward a wooden crate on the floor near the hearth. "A box came for you while you were gone."
Aramis cocked his head slightly as he looked at the crate, noticing that it was nailed shut. "Do you have anything I can pry this open with?" he asked.
Porthos pointed to the hearth. "Try one of the pokers."
Seizing one of the heavy iron pokers, he managed to wedge it under the lid and pried it off. "Ah!" he exclaimed, pleased. Nestled in a bed of straw were three replicas of the iron mask that Philippe had worn. "Excellent. It is our masks."
Philippe looked at the gruesome looking items, and could not suppress a shudder of revulsion; revulsion that he had worn the mask for years and revulsion that his brother must now wear it.
Athos leaned forward and picked up one of the ghastly items, turning it in his hand to examine it with solemn eyes. It did not seem so very long ago that they had removed the original from the head of the young man who sat across the room from him. "I am not convinced that this will work," he said.
"Of course it will work!" the priest replied with confidence. "I have been planning all our moves since we began this little adventure, and everything has worked out so far, has it not?"
"It has, but this is different. This is leaving too much to chance. Other people do not always do what you expect them to, and I have serious doubts that Louis will be as predictable as you think he will."
"Louis believes his brother to be dead, the body burned beyond recognition and the charred mask sent to him as proof of his death. At the ball, he will likely have been drinking, and between the alcohol and the excitement of the dancing, I am quite certain he will believe the spirit of his dead brother has come back to haunt him."
Athos was shaking his head slowly, as if in disagreement.
"You do not agree?"
"I am still not convinced that it will progress as you have predicted," Athos replied. "All I am saying is that we need to have a backup plan in case the first one does not go the way you expect. We only have one shot at this; we must be prepared for anything and everything."
Porthos was nodding his head in agreement. "Athos is right. There must be an alternative plan, just in case." He reached for another pastry.
"I haven't noticed either of you coming up with one of those alternative plans," the priest challenged. He paused to take a deep breath, calming himself after his initial feelings of offense, and noticed the platter of pastries. "What is that you are eating?"
"Angelina made them," Porthos said. He picked up the platter and extended it toward him. "Have one?"
Aramis reached for one of them and sampled it. "This is delicious," he said, approvingly. After a moment, he conceded, "Well, I suppose you are right. Perhaps it would be wise to have an alternative, just in case."
A knock at the door interrupted the conversation, and Aramis quickly gathered up the masks and returned them to the box and placed the lid on it.
"Enter," Porthos said.
Margot opened the door and stepped just inside. "Pardon me, but there is a priest here to see Father Aramis. He says his name is Pasquier."
Aramis exchanged a quick glance with Athos and Porthos. "Show him in, please."
Margot curtseyed, and returned to the entry hall to retrieve the visitor.
Aramis turned to Philippe. "I think it best that you hide. Pasquier is a member of the Order, but he does not know that the king has a twin brother, so it would give him quite a turn to see you here."
Porthos rose from his chair and led the way to an adjoining door. "You can hide in here."
He opened the door and Philippe stepped into the dark, shadowy room. In the meager light that filtered through the closed shutters, he could see the fine fabrics and carefully hewn wood of the furniture and the delicate glassware that decorated it. It was definitely a woman's room.
"It was my wife's parlor," he told him, sadly. "She loved to sit in here and read. When the shutters are open it is very light and cheerful, but to me . . . to me it is no longer cheerful."
The door to the study opened, and Margot escorted Pasquier into it. Porthos closed the parlor door and made his way back to his chair as Aramis stepped forward to greet the courier. "You have a message for me?"
Pasquier removed the parchment from inside his cassock and handed it to his fellow priest. "Your friend said it was urgent."
There was no addressee listed on the letter, and when he turned it over to examine the seal, he saw that there wasn't one. "Obviously, he did not want it traced should it fall into the wrong hands." He looked up again. "Thank you, my friend. Have you eaten? The cook has just made some delicious pastries. Or perhaps you would care for a drink?"
The other priest shook his head, quickly. "Thank you, but I must return. I am expected for evening prayers." He acknowledged the others with a quick nod. "Godspeed, gentlemen. I can find my way out."
Pasquier departed, closing the door behind him, and while Aramis broke the seal and opened the letter, Philippe, who had been listening against the parlor door, opened it and returned to the study.
Aramis easily recognized D'Artagnan's impeccable, flowing script. "It is from D'Artagnan," he announced, as his eyes quickly scanned the message.
The other three men waited for him to reveal the contents of the letter. When he did not, Athos finally prompted, "Well? What does it say?"
Aramis's eyes darted toward him, reminded that the others were not aware of the contents of the letter. "He says that Louis has scheduled a pheasant hunt tomorrow morning on the LaCroix estate."
Porthos sat up straighter, startled. "LaCroix?"
"Yes. That is what it says." Puzzled by Porthos's reaction, he asked, "Does that mean something?"
"Absolutely. His estate is adjacent to mine! They will pass right in front of my gate to reach his property."
"How does he want to handle this?" Athos asked.
"He requests that if we have a shooting lesson planned tomorrow morning it should be terminated, as there will be armed Musketeers securing the LaCroix property, and if musket fire is heard, they will investigate the source." He tugged absently at his beard. "All right, this does pose some problems, but it does not necessarily have to be a serious problem. We will take Philippe out once more this afternoon for a final shooting lesson, so we must make it count. We will remain indoors tomorrow morning, and then travel into Paris in the early evening to attend the ball."
Philippe felt his heartbeat quicken. He had one more evening to simply be Philippe; tomorrow evening, he would be king.