Chapter Twenty Five
A short time later, Porthos, and Aramis returned at a hard gallop, accompanied by a third rider. Lieutenant Andre centered his attention on this unknown person, as it seemed he was the focus of what he still presumed to be a treasonous act, but even at a distance, there was something strikingly familiar about the rider's posture and appearance. As they drew nearer and reined in their horses, his jaw dropped in disbelief.
"He looks – he looks exactly like . . . " His voice trailed in confusion, and while the riders dismounted and secured their horses, he turned to his commanding officer for explanation. "How can this be?"
"He is Louis' identical twin brother, Philippe," D'Artagnan explained. "Kept hidden since birth by the former king, and then condemned to a life of misery by his own brother."
"Twins?" Andre asked, still slack-jawed with astonishment as his mind struggled to accept the reality that his eyes were seeing. His eyes darted to Philippe, who regarded him silently as he stood between Aramis and Porthos. "They are brothers?"
"When they were born, the old king removed Philippe from the palace and ordered that he be removed from Paris and sent away to live in obscurity, so that he would never know his true identity and therefore would never be a threat to young Louis' reign. I only found out about him two weeks ago."
"That is what you were up to these past few weeks!" Louis said, livid with rage. "There was no trip to Gascony! You and the others were conspiring against me! To steal my throne and give it to him!" His finger stabbed the air in the general direction of his brother in emphasis, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion as he considered who could have disclosed Philippe's existence to others. His attention settled on D'Artagnan, the only one of the four friends who had constant access to the palace. "My father told only me and my mother of his removal from the palace. Did she reveal this to you? Is she part of this betrayal?"
"Your mother has no part in it," Aramis said, softly before D'Artagnan could answer. "You forget; there was one other who knew of the secret twin, and has born this burden of guilt from the very beginning."
Realization dawned. "You! It was you!"
"Yes, it was I who followed the old king's initial order to remove the younger twin from the palace and find a new home for him. And then years later, on your orders, it was I who removed him from the home in which he had been raised and confined him to the prison, and it was I who was tormented year after year from the horrors I had committed against your brother. And it was I who have freed him, with the help of friends, in an attempt to right this terrible injustice that was done to him and hopefully restore fairness and integrity to the throne."
"My father entrusted you with this secret because he believed you would not deceive him. You betray his trust with this treasonous act."
"It was you who betrayed his trust by taking the information he gave you and using it to bring harm to your brother."
"I was told so that I might take necessary steps to protect myself."
"Your father revealed your brother's existence not only because he wished to make you aware that you had a twin, but also because he intended that you would see to his needs. Upon his death, he transferred that obligation to you, and you mishandled it in the cruelest way possible. The mask was your creation, and you ordered me to commit the most heinous act imaginable, one which has plagued my conscience every day since. The only way I can find salvation is to set things right again."
Andre was frowning as he listened to the discussion, and sought to understand the full scope of the events to which he had been previously unaware. "What is this mask you speak of?"
Aramis reached for a cloth sack that was hanging from his saddle, and Andre's eyes fell upon the shape of the object inside it, thinking that it bore a gruesome similarity to the severed head of the advisor who had been executed only weeks earlier, when it had been placed in a sack and tossed into the coffin with the torso. "When the old king died, young Louis here commissioned an iron mask be made," Aramis was saying. "He ordered me to place it upon his brother's head so that others would not look upon his face and see the resemblance." He untied the top of the sack and withdrew the hideous contraption. "This very mask."
For several long moments, Andre stared at the mask and its empty eye holes with obvious revulsion, then he turned questioning eyes upon his king, as if silently requesting confirmation of the accusations. Louis glared back without shame or remorse, nor did he make any attempt to justify his actions. He was the king, and his word was law; there was no need to validate his decisions with anyone.
Aramis continued, "Louis then ordered me to lock him away in a prison on the island of St. Marguerite, where he has been living in isolation for the past six years." He placed his hand on Philippe's shoulder for emphasis. "His own brother! Philippe lived in this mask and in that dank, dark cell for six long years. Imagine, if you will, what it must be like to have your head locked inside this mask, unable to remove it. Imagine that you must eat and sleep while wearing it. Imagine never being able to touch your own face or see your reflection. This is the cruelty that Louis is capable of, Lieutenant."
Andre was listening attentively as he looked from one twin to the other, apparently trying to imagine how one brother could be so cruel to the other, and still marveling the existence of the secret twin. "Were it not for the clothes, I would be unable to tell them apart!"
"And no one else will, either," D'Artagnan said. "It should be obvious to you by now that our plan is to replace Louis with Philippe. And this is where you must make a decision, Andre," he said, appealing to him as a friend instead of a subordinate. "But I ask you to think on this carefully. Louis is a corrupt, merciless king. You know this to be true, for you have also witnessed his treachery. And in spite of my loyalty to him, I have been ashamed of his behavior; ashamed of the way he ignores the needs of his people in favor of his own desires."
Andre knew that D'Artagnan and the others were awaiting his decision as he looked from one to the other, but it was the most difficult decision of his life. "Captain, I know that what you are saying is true, and I admit that he is a corrupt and merciless king. But he is our king. We took an oath to protect him."
"As peculiar as it may seem, that is exactly what we are doing. Over the past year, we have stopped six assassination attempts. Only a few days ago, you yourself stopped a seventh attempt. It isn't only the Jesuits who hate him; it is the common people, the lifeblood of France. At this very moment, a simple farmer is sitting in the Bastille awaiting execution for this latest attempt on his life, a man whose crops had been confiscated to feed Louis' army, and who saw no other way out of his family's poverty and hunger than to remove the king from the throne the only way he knew how, even knowing that he would likely be caught. No matter what we do to protect him, it is only a matter of time before one of them is successful, and when it happens the country will be thrown into chaos as each of his royal relatives attempt to seize the throne for his own gain. When that happens, which of them will you serve?"
Andre was quiet for a long time, pondering his captain's words and especially the question he had asked. Assassination of the king was always a possibility; Louis' grandfather had suffered that fate. But there had been a son to whom to pass the throne, and at present Louis had no heir; only the brother he had wronged, a brother no one else knew existed. "Captain," he said at last. "I have served him loyally for years."
"As have I," D'Artagnan reminded him. "I did not reach this decision casually, and I would not be a part of this if I did not believe it to be the best way to preserve France. By placing Philippe on the throne, no one dies, and at long last the country gains a respectable king, a righteous king. I know this is a difficult decision for you, but you know that no one has been more loyal to the king than I have been. Consider this; we are not replacing him with an outsider. Philippe is his twin. They have the same blood. He was born only minutes after Louis; he has a legitimate claim to the throne."
Andre lowered his gaze to the grass, carefully considering everything he had been told. Tradition and loyalty was firmly instilled in him, and exchanging the rightful king for the other was a concept he had never considered. And why should he? There had never been a situation like this before. Could it possibly be done? Lifting his eyes from the ground, he looked long and hard at the four men who stood before him, the legendary Inseparables, the Four Musketeers whose heroic deeds had inspired his desire to join the service. Even in middle age, all four were remarkable figures of courage and unity, and their mere presence aroused a strong desire to join their cause. But still he hesitated, understanding that once he took that step, there was no turning back.
"My heart wants to follow you, to serve a righteous king," he admitted at last, "but I have sworn an oath to defend the king. The rightful king. How can I turn my back on that?"
"By opening your eyes and mind to the treachery you have witnessed under his reign," Aramis told him. "Do you think we did this simply for the sake of doing it? No. The Jesuit movement is gaining strength, and a revolution is nigh at hand. The people are discontent, and many innocent lives may be lost if a rebellion occurs. We are doing this for the good of the country, so that the wrongs committed by this king will be righted. Lieutenant, I have seen your face many times when it was obvious that you disapproved of his corruption, is that not true?"
Andre could not deny the revulsion he had felt on more than one occasion when the king had committed an unrighteous act or issued an immoral order. "Yes. But you said yourself that he has been raised away from the Court. Will he be able to rule the country effectively?"
"With us to guide him, yes," Aramis answered. In response to the flash of doubt that he saw in Andre's eyes, the priest added, "No, this is not an attempt by us to rule France by proxy. As soon as he has learned the things he must know to govern the country, we will step aside."
"We haven't the time to discuss this," D'Artagnan said, growing impatient with the delay. The longer they debated, the greater the risk of detection. "Lieutenant, if you wish to think on this, we will grant you a few minutes to do so, but then you must make a decision." Dismissing the lieutenant for the moment, trusting Athos to cover him with the musket, he turned to Philippe. "We will need you and Louis to exchange clothes." He quickly surveyed the surrounding countryside, but there was no sign that any of the other Musketeers or king's aides were nearby. "This is our best opportunity."
Aramis was nodding, approvingly. "An excellent idea to seize the occasion," he agreed. "Here, with only us present, we cannot fail." He smiled, as if amused. "Perhaps my original plan was a bit flawed after all."
Porthos nudged him playfully with his elbow and said to D'Artagnan and Athos, "Finally, he admits to a flawed plan!"
Philippe was staring at his brother, who in turn was staring at him, both of them experiencing very different reactions to seeing the other face to face for the first time in their lives. Philippe, who had never known a family, regretted the separation and still held onto the hope that they could one day enjoy a bond of brotherhood; Louis knew only bitterness and resentment that the secret had been exposed and that this stranger was stealing everything that was rightfully his.
D'Artagnan observed the faces of his two sons, together for the first time since birth, and knew that there were conflicting emotions between them. How strange it must be to look into the face of another, and see your own face looking back at you! But for the Musketeer captain, his own thoughts and regrets had found their way into his heart, a yearning he could never begin to express. Everything would have been so different had it been possible for him to acknowledge their paternity, and taken them and their mother away to live as a family.
Philippe had not responded to his statement that they should exchange clothes, so D'Artagnan placed a hand on his shoulder to attract his attention. "Philippe." The younger twin turned to look into the Musketeer's solemn face, then nodded to indicate that he had heard, and immediately began unfastening his coat.
Louis stood red-faced with indignation and hatred for all these men who were seeking to overthrow his authority for their own gain. How dare they speak so viciously about him! His hand brushed against something hard beneath his elaborate riding coat, and with a jolt of remembrance, he recalled the long ornamental dagger that he carried at his waist. Because it was concealed beneath the coat, his attackers were unaware of its presence. A new feeling of hope surged in his heart, reassured by the weapon. All he had to do was kill his twin, and the plot would be foiled. There would be no one to replace him with, and they would have no choice but to renounce their treasonous conspiracy.
Warily, he shifted his eyes from one man to the other. Porthos was with the horses, and carried no visible weapon except his sword, which was sheathed. D'Artagnan's and Aramis's attention were on Philippe, speaking last minute instructions to him as he undressed. Athos was watching Andre, still suspicious that he would try something. And Andre's attention was diverted by the pistol that Athos was pointing at him. Apparently, no one believed the king was capable of defending himself. Well, he would show them.
Discreetly, he slipped his hand beneath the coat and gripped the handle of the dagger. It was warm from his body heat, and comforting in its deadly capacity. Adjusting his grip, he quickly withdrew it from the sheath and lunged at his brother.
D'Artagnan heard the scraping sound of the dagger being withdrawn, and whirled around. Instantly, he realized what was happening. Stepping between the two brothers, he caught Louis' arm, effectively blocking the downward plunge of the knife, and roughly flung him to the ground.
Athos had instantly turned his pistol from Andre to Louis, wanting desperately to shoot, but even through the activity of the attack, D'Artagnan noticed it. "No!" he exclaimed. Athos gave a slight nod of acknowledgement and lowered the weapon.
Louis sprawled on his back in the grass, and the murderous rage that D'Artagnan saw in his contorted face ripped at his soul. The older of his twin sons who had once trusted him, would forever remember him as the man who helped steal his throne. The damage could never be repaired.
Pointing a stern finger toward the young man, D'Artagnan said, "Do not move!"
Louis glared, but said nothing. He was breathing heavily, not from exertion, but from the fury that could not find release.
The Musketeer turned to Philippe, who had watched in wide-eyed astonishment as his own brother had attempted to murder him. "Are you hurt?"
Philippe shook his head. "No."
Louis' grip tightened on the handle of the knife that the captain had failed to remove from him, and stared at the man who had been his chief bodyguard for years, focusing his exposed back. Insane with rage, a scream tore from the throat of the deposed king as he started to scramble to his feet again, still determined to carry out his deadly mission even if it meant eliminating D'Artagnan as well, but before he could get his feet under him he heard a long steel blade being unsheathed and an instant later the tip of a sword was at his throat. Stunned, he stared into the angry face of Lieutenant Andre, who had drawn his sword in defense of his captain.
"Don't try it," the lieutenant warned.
Louis shrank away from the blade that was pressed beneath his chin, and leaned back on his elbows, staring in shocked disbelief at the lieutenant who had just foiled his plans, and was surprised to find open hostility glaring back at him.
D'Artagnan turned around again and quickly assessed the situation. Athos had raised the musket once more and had resisted the urge to fire prematurely, but there was no question that he would have done exactly that had Louis managed to get to his feet. Lieutenant Andre had automatically risen to the task of stopping Louis' attack, his loyalty to his captain greater than his loyalty to the king. His gaze came to rest on the man who had just saved his life, and no doubt Louis' life as well.
Andre shrugged in response to the unspoken question he saw in the older man's eyes. "It seems I have made my choice, doesn't it?"
D'Artagnan gave a quick nod of acknowledgment, then knelt beside Louis and yanked the dagger from his fist. Resentfully, Louis spat in the captain's face, generating a spontaneous reaction from D'Artagnan that he never would have believed himself capable of. Before he could even think about what he was doing, he backhanded the young king across the mouth, sending him careening back to the ground.
Andre saw a solemn look pass between the three former Musketeers, a look he did not fully understand, and presumed it was surprise that the captain would actually slap the former king.
D'Artagnan stood up, wiping the saliva from his face with his sleeve, and glared down at his son. "Get up and strip," he commanded. In a graceful gesture, he tossed the dagger to the ground near Philippe so that it cut the sod smoothly, and stood upright.
"You will never get away with this!" Louis screamed, pressing his hand to his stinging cheek. Never in his entire life had anyone dared strike him!
"We will get away with this," Athos contradicted. "Do not think that we have not planned this out very carefully."
"You are wrong. My mother –"
"Your mother –" Athos begin, but was stopped by D'Artagnan, who did not want to tarnish the young man's opinion of his mother by informing him that she was already aware of the switch. After he was deposed, she would likely be his only visitor.
"Your mother loves you as only a mother can," the captain said quietly, interrupting Athos, "but she cannot help you any more than she could help Philippe when your positions were reversed. Now strip."
"No," Louis said, defiantly.
D'Artagnan grasped the front of his coat in both hands, and pulled him to his feet. "I said strip, or I am certain Porthos will be delighted to do it for you."
"I can get the job done," Porthos said, eagerly, stepping forward.
Refusing to endure the humiliation of having his clothing removed from him by the hands of the jolly ex-Musketeer, Louis yanked off his coat in a gesture of frustration that nearly popped the buttons. "You won't get away with this," he repeated. "I will see each one of you at the guillotine, I promise you that. Starting with you, D'Artagnan." He threw the coat down on the grass and removed his vest. "I never thought you would betray me like this. If ever there was anyone on my staff that I believed I could rely on, it would be you."
"You gave me no alternative," D'Artagnan replied, quietly.
"There is always an alternative, D'Artagnan," Louis shot back. "What you are doing is treason. You were not on staff as my advisor, yet you gave me advice, and I listened to your words, I truly did."
"And you discarded them as soon as I left the room."
"I will be willing to forget about all this," Louis said, changing his tactic. "All of you will be allowed to go free if you stop this foolishness at once. I will give you safe passage to the coast, where you may take a boat to wherever you wish to go."
"It is too late for tricks, Louis," D'Artagnan replied. "Promises are easy to make, but we are not foolish enough to believe that you would honor those promises." He turned to Athos, and made a slight gesture toward Andre. "Return his musket."
Athos passed the musket he had taken from Andre back to its owner, but as the lieutenant's hand closed around it, he did not release it immediately. Andre looked up questioningly, his eyes meeting those of Athos. The former Musketeer gave a slight nod that carried with it great significance. "You are one of us, now," he said. "All for one, one for all. There is no turning back."
Andre experienced a profound sensation of intense unity, understanding that the famous Inseparables were accepting him into their secret mission, an honor they had not bestowed on anyone else since they had welcomed D'Artagnan as one of them many years earlier. The lieutenant nodded is acceptance of the role he would play in the exchange. When Athos released the musket, Andre joined him in covering Louis, a peculiar feeling for the young man who had dedicated his life to protecting that very person, but having made his decision, he would face the consequences of it, regardless of how it ultimately concluded.
With his coat, vest and shirt off, Louis turned his eyes toward the direction of the mansion, hoping beyond hope that a member of his staff would come looking for him, but all he saw was the green grass and the trees dotting the open land. Hopelessness tightened his chest with the realization that there would be no rescue.
"The boots and breeches too," Porthos told him.
Furiously, Louis pulled off his boots and unfastened the breeches, and removed them as well. He threw them angrily onto the ground. How dare they subject him to this humiliation! When he was standing barefoot and in his undergarments, D'Artagnan picked up the clothes that had been discarded on the ground and took them to Philippe, who began to put them on. Taking Philippe's discarded clothes, he carried them to Louis.
"You may put these on."
Louis looked at the clothes that his brother had been wearing with considerable distaste. The shirt and trousers were quite plain, suitable for peasants. He folded his arms and lifted his chin, defiantly. "I will not."
"Are we going to go through this again?" Porthos asked. "Would you prefer that I dressed you like an infant?"
Louis snatched the clothes, singled out the breeches, and stepped into them. "How dare you treat me with so little respect! You think no one will notice? Francois draws my bath and helps me dress. Believe me; he will notice any differences between Philippe and me."
"For his sake, he had better not, or he may find himself serving you in prison," Aramis said, cryptically.
Louis froze, his fingers hovering over the buttons that fastened the breeches, and his eyes darted toward the priest. "P-prison?" he stammered. He never noticed the injured expression that drifted over D'Artagnan's face or the way he lowered his gaze to the ground at the mention of the prison, but Andre noticed it and understood that removing Louis from power was as difficult for the captain as it was for him.
The three former Musketeers apparently did not share the misgivings of the two officers, for Aramis was unsympathetic as he replied, "That is correct. Why do you think your brother was dressed in peasant clothes? It would look rather odd for a prisoner to be sent to the Bastille wearing the king's clothing!"
Shock rippled through Louis' body with the confirmation of his fate. "The Bastille!" he responded, trying to maintain an air of authority, but his fear was vivid in the tremble to his voice. "You cannot confine your king to the Bastille! This is an outrage!"
"We can and we will," Porthos declared.
Aramis suddenly thought of something. "D'Artagnan, it just occurred to me. To place him in the Bastille, a written order is required from either you or the king. In the haste of our departure, I did not think to bring a parchment or quill."
"No matter," D'Artagnan replied. "I always carry them with me in case urgent orders are needed."
Aramis was unfastening the mask, and D'Artagnan knew that it would soon be affixed to Louis' head. He turned away, unwilling to watch while they did this terrible thing to his son. Moving to the stallion, he opened the saddle satchel. Wherever he rode, he always carried a capped ink well and a quill, just in case orders needed to be written on the spur of the moment, and this situation had progressed to just such a moment. After removing his writing implements from his satchel, he spread a sheet of parchment against his saddle and began to write his instructions for Louis. Starting a fire to melt the wax for his personal seal would attract unwanted attention, but he knew that his script was distinct, and that no one at the Bastille would question its authenticity if delivered by his Lieutenant.
Behind him, much to his distress, Louis had realized what was about to happen. "No!" he cried, fearfully. "You cannot do this!"
"Why not?" Aramis asked. "You did it to your brother."
"But I am king!"
As Aramis approached him, Louis took several steps backward, as if to avoid the loathsome object, but he knew there was no chance for escape. Porthos seized both arms to hold him still, and Athos and Aramis affixed the mask to Louis' head. In deference to D'Artagnan, they were careful to arrange his hair in such a way that it did not become entangled in the hinges, in spite of his continued struggles to free himself. Locked in Porthos's firm grasp, he was unable to break the hold on his arms, and was forced to submit to the indignity of wearing his brother's mask.
Tears of emotional agony burned behind the D'Artagnan's eyes at the sounds of his son's misery, and one of them spilled over the rim, leaving a wet track down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away on his sleeve, hoping that no one had noticed. He could not show weakness during this important time. When the orders were completed, he took a deep breath to compose himself, then the document was folded and turned over to Lieutenant Andre.
"These are instructions for his incarceration," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady, even though his heart was breaking. "I am placing you in charge of escorting him to the Bastille. Aramis and Porthos will accompany you. Under proper procedure, the document should also bear my seal, but explain to them that we were in the field and could not light a fire. I believe there is a deaf-mute serving as a guard in the Bastille?"
"I believe so, Captain. He is used to care for political prisoners who might be inclined to bribe their guards. Since he can neither hear nor speak, he is less inclined to be tempted by their offers."
"Good. Louis is to be confined alone in an obscure corridor of the Bastille with no other prisoners nearby with whom he might communicate, and he is to be attended to only by this one man. If he attempts to solicit the guards on the way in, tell them that he is insane and that they must ignore anything they might hear him say, but that he must be kept well-fed and well treated by personal order of the king."
"I will see to it, Captain. What if they ask about the mask? It isn't every day that someone is brought in with his face covered in such a way."
"Inform them that he is a political prisoner, that he was masked by order of the king, and that they need know no more than that."
Andre nodded toward Porthos and Aramis. "They are still wanted for questioning," he reminded him.
"If anyone questions their presence, tell them that this man was apprehended during the king's hunt, that Athos, Porthos, and Aramis came to our aid, and by order of the king the three of them are no longer under suspicion."
Andre nodded. "Yes, Captain."
"You will never get away with this!" Louis screamed, his voice muffled by the mask.
Aramis finished tying Louis' wrists together, and roughly shoved him toward the borrowed horse that Philippe had been riding, but D'Artagnan moved in front of him and caught him as he stumbled. Even in his fear and anger, Louis noticed the gentleness in those hands as he set him upright again, and he looked up and their eyes met. There was unspeakable sorrow in the Musketeer's blue eyes.
D'Artagnan did not fail to detect the fear that stared back at him through the eye slits carved in the mask, and he felt his heart clench with grief. "Your Majesty, I have served you well your entire life, and it grieves me to see this done to you."
"You had a hand in doing this to me!" Louis retorted, bitterly.
"I know, and it gives me no pleasure to see you suffer so. But I will offer some advice –"
"I want none of your advice!" Louis snapped. "You are a traitor!"
"Nevertheless, you will hear it," D'Artagnan continued, his voice calm. "And I advise that you listen well, for it may determine your future. Your brother is now king, and he has the power to determine your fate, but I am certain that he will show more mercy to you than you have shown to him. There are plans underway that will soon remove you from the Bastille and provide you with a more comfortable existence. I suggest that you think about that carefully, for your behavior can persuade him to do otherwise."
Louis looked at Philippe, who stood nearby wearing the king's clothing, his clothing, and felt the rage building inside him again. "You have no right to do this to me! I am the king!" he repeated.
"For your sake, I suggest you keep that information to yourself," D'Artagnan said. "No one is going to believe you, and anything you say to them will be regarded as the wild ravings of a madman. Remember, you may exchange your incarceration at the Bastille for a more pleasant existence, but only if you conduct yourself in manner that is deserving of reward."
Louis had condemned many men to the Bastille, but he had never in his wildest nightmares believed that he would one day join them there. Like a common criminal! "I deserve to be treated with respect!" he retorted.
Philippe moved toward him, his eyes apologetic. "Louis, my brother, I wish we could have met under different circumstances. I know it means little to you right now, but I never wanted to see this done to you and I never wanted your throne."
"You say these things, and yet you steal everything that is mine!" Louis retorted.
"You and the former king have also stolen from me," Philippe continued, quietly. "He stole my birthright and the right to know my family, but even worse, you stole my dignity. You confined me in unimaginable filth and stench when I had committed no wrongdoing. My only crime was that I looked like you. These men have told me some of the things you have done to your subjects, and that is why I agreed to step into your place and rule under your name, even though in doing so I am giving up my own identity. It is not out of vindictiveness that I do this, for even after the way I have been treated, I still feel no ill will toward you. But . . . " He averted his eyes briefly. It was difficult to see that horrible mask looking back at him. "I know you must hate me, but it is my hope that one day we might find some sort of understanding between us. That we might come to know each other as brothers. As family."
"I wish you had died in that prison!" Louis spat. "You have no right to do these things!"
"Your incompetence as a ruler has given him the right," Aramis corrected. "And he may also be saving your life, for one day one of those assassins who have plagued you for the past year would succeed." His hand clamped on the Louis' shoulder. "It is time to go. Get on the horse."
"No."
Porthos stepped forward, and he and Aramis forced their prisoner into the saddle. While they mounted their horses, Andre approached D'Artagnan, fumbling with the written orders that he held in his hand.
"Captain, after the prisoner has been delivered, what are your orders?"
"Return to the palace. We will be returning shortly. When we arrive, we will begin preparations for the ball this evening. We must be extra vigilant. I do not want our new king to fall to an assassin for the sins committed by his brother."
With his orders in place, Andre mounted his horse.
Panic rose in Louis, and he clutched the pommel with his bound hands until the knuckles turned white. "No! Please!" he screamed. "You cannot do this to me!"
D'Artagnan placed a comforting hand on Louis' thigh, a gesture he would never have dared under normal circumstances. "Louis, calm yourself and have the courage to accept your fate as Philippe did. He lived six years in the mask that you now wear, but at his decree you will not have to suffer for so long a time as he. This is going to happen, and it is better that you face it with dignity, like a man, as your father would have expected. The Bastille is only temporary. As I said before, we are preparing another place for you, a place where you will be more comfortable and where the mask can be removed when you are alone. You will be well-treated, but you must be cooperative. Do you understand?"
Something in the Musketeer's tone and touch seemed to sooth the frightened young man, and his words offered encouragement that he would soon be free of the horrors of the Bastille. After a long moment, he nodded his head. "Yes."
D'Artagnan patted Louis' thigh with great affection and gave it a fatherly squeeze, then stepped back. "See that he has a cot to sleep on," he instructed. "And that he is treated with respect."
"I will see to it," Andre promised.
"Go."
Aramis took the reins of the horse that carried Louis, and with a nod to the Musketeer captain, he turned toward Paris with Porthos and Andre following.
D'Artagnan watched his older son being escorted away until he was out of sight, then he turned and walked a short distance away, succumbing to his grief. Leaning his hand against a tree, he pressed his fingers against his eyes in an attempt to check the flow of tears.
Athos and Philippe watched in silence, understanding the anguish that D'Artagnan was feeling as a father. Philippe then lowered his gaze to the ground, visibly distressed that his brother would suffer the same fate he had endured and fully understanding the pain he father was experiencing.
After a moment, Athos approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it with great compassion. "I know how difficult that was for you to do," he said, softly.
"I have just taken from my son everything that he has known his entire life and condemned him to a horrible existence," he said, his voice breaking slightly.
"You must hold on to the knowledge that the arrangement is not permanent," Athos urged. "Soon, he will be moved to the house and a more comfortable life."
D'Artagnan nodded. "I know. I just wish there had been another way." He looked at his best friend, his eyes shining with tears. "I struck him, Athos. I struck my son." He shook his head in disbelief at his actions. "I never would have thought I could do such a thing, but I was already angry that he had attempted to kill his brother, and then when he spit in my face, I just reacted without even thinking."
Athos was quiet for a long moment, then spoke in his quiet voice, "Well, you can hardly be blamed for that. Sometimes, it is necessary for a father to discipline his son out of love for that son, and that is something Louis has never known."
"Knowing that does not make it any less painful."
"No, it doesn't," Athos agreed.
"He thinks I have betrayed him. And I suppose I have."
"You mustn't think of it like that. Because of your courage, France has the chance to recover from everything he has done, and Philippe can restore respect for the crown. Tomorrow, we will begin to make the changes necessary to insure the stability of the country and the people."
D'Artagnan drew a deep breath, recomposing himself. "Come, we must get the king back to the house before he is missed." He untied his stallion and mounted.
Philippe could not help but admire his father's magnificent gray stallion, but it did not seem appropriate at the moment to comment on things of such beauty while his brother was being escorted to the Bastille, so he untied his black and mounted. With Athos on one side and D'Artagnan on the other, the three men crossed back over the property boundary.
For a while, they rode in silence. Philippe silently observed the faces of the two men who flanked him, each one deep in his own thoughts, but soon D'Artagnan knew he must prepare his younger son for his arrival at the house and at the palace.
"There are things you must know before we reach the house," he said. "The owner of the estate is Regnault LaCroix, and he is the one who made the offer to the king to hunt on his property. Louis shot nine pheasants and six partridges this morning, and had two of them presented to LaCroix as a gift. Louis also gave him two bottles of Bordeaux. He invited Louis inside after the hunt to share one of the bottles with him, but it would be better if you decline. Tell him that you appreciate the offer, but you must return to the palace."
Philippe nodded, gratefully. The last thing he wanted to do was engage in small-talk with a complete stranger. "Is he invited to the ball?"
"Yes, but it is unlikely that you will do more than exchange pleasantries. For this hunting trip, Louis was accompanied by several people, including his personal valet, Francois –"
"He's the one you've been worried about," Philippe interrupted.
"Yes. I spoke with your mother last night, and she believes he will not notice any significant differences between you simply because he does not know that the king has a twin, but when in his presence, or any one else's, you must be careful to maintain that haughty air that Louis possesses. Francois is wearing white breeches and a blue coat. Louis also brought with him the man who trains and handles his hunting dogs, Perrot, and Jacques, who reloads his weapons for him, but he sent both of them back to the palace. He also brought a few other servants, but you will not need to remember their names at this time. I'm not sure Louis knows them, either."
"Perrot handles the dogs and Jacques handles the guns," Philippe repeated.
"Yes. The birds have been sent back to the palace to be prepared for the feast this evening during the ball. The menu and drinks have already been ordered, so you will not have to concern yourself with that. If there is anything wrong with the menu or items that could not be obtained, they may come to you for instructions. You may refer them to your mother to handle."
Philippe drew a deep breath, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "There is so much to remember," he worried.
"You will be fine," Athos assured him.
Philippe became noticeably uneasy when the house came into sight, prompting D'Artagnan to draw his horse to a halt. Likewise, Philippe and Athos stopped, and both turned to him, expectantly.
"Son, I understand that you are nervous, but the king would never look as frightened as you are right now. You must appear relaxed and confident."
"I do not know if I can do this," Philippe replied, honestly. "What if I do something wrong? What if someone notices something different about us?"
"They won't. Louis is not well acquainted with LaCroix. He was invited here merely to get in good standing with the king, nothing more." Reaching toward his son, he straightened the cravat and the sleeve of the gilded coat, apparently pleased with his appearance. "To look at you, no one will know that you are not Louis. But you must appear confident of yourself, even arrogant."
"What will I say?" the young man inquired. "I fear I will say something wrong, or that my voice will be too weak or . . . I just fear I will say or do something that will give us away. Louis will not be forgiving should we be found out and exposed as imposters. I could accept my own death, but I could not bear knowing that the two of you would be executed as well."
"That is not going to happen, Philippe. I will do most of the talking, but you yourself must explain why we will be leaving the estate without joining the host for refreshments. Merely inform him that another attempt was made on your life, and that you must return to the palace. I will take it from there."
Philippe nodded his head slowly, but D'Artagnan could see the vein that was pulsing in his neck in rhythm to his elevated heartbeat. This would be the first test of his ability to fool his staff into believing that he was Louis.
Athos placed a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. "You are going to do fine, Philippe. We will both be at your side through this, and we will guide you through it." He tightened his fingers, gripping him and shaking him gently in affection. "I have no doubt that you are going to be a good king."
Philippe took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself, then he nudged the black horse with his heels, and they walked their mounts toward the house. Almost immediately, he began to notice armed Musketeers posted around the residence, and understood that they were there to protect the king. He lifted his chin, trying to appear somewhat haughty, and placed his right fist on his hip.
"Excellent," he heard D'Artagnan say quietly in approval.
The three men came to a halt near the entrance to the house, and a Musketeer, recognizing Athos, rushed forward lifting his musket to the ready. "Halt, you!" he commanded.
"Lower that weapon," Philippe commanded.
The Musketeer reluctantly did as instructed. "But Sire, this man is Athos, who attempted to assassinate you that day in the Musketeer yard!"
"I am well aware of who he is," Philippe replied. "But things are not as they appear."
D'Artagnan and Athos exchanged glances behind Philippe's head. That was certainly the truth!
"Another attempt was made upon my life during the hunt, and this man and his friends, Aramis and Porthos, came to my assistance by aiding in the capture of the perpetrator. They and Lieutenant Andre are at this minute escorting him to the Bastille. I want it known to all that I am granting pardons to all three."
LaCroix had stepped outside while Philippe was speaking, and was wringing his hands together in despair. "I am so sorry, Your Majesty! I hope you do not believe that I had anything to do with it, since it occurred on my property! I assure you, I had no knowledge of --"
"It was not on your property, actually," Philippe interrupted, keeping his voice strong and authoritative. "We had wandered onto the estate of Porthos. That is why he and the others came out to investigate the shooting, and by chance discovered the would-be assassin. I am not holding you accountable."
LaCroix bowed, greatly relieved. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
"I hope you understand why I will not be able to accept your invitation to share your refreshments, however. I must return at once to the palace."
"Of course, your majesty. However, there is one matter . . . " His voice trailed, and it was apparent that he was extremely agitated.
"What is it?" Philippe asked. "Speak."
"Well, your majesty, it is your valet, the man called Francois." He looked helplessly around, as if seeking assistance in his explanation. His wife and children all averted their eyes, reluctant to pass along the bad news to the king. "It was a terrible accident, Sire. No one was to blame. He was taking the Bordeaux to my wine cellar where the air is cool, so that it might chill for a while before your return, and . . . well, he must have tripped. I have no other explanation. He fell down the steps and broke his leg."
Athos's head instantly whipped around to look at D'Artagnan, who was equally astonished. It seemed that fate had intervened in their favor, and was clearing the way for Philippe to take the throne.
"Quite a nasty fracture," LaCroix continued, greatly distressed by the shocked expression on the king's face. "I summoned a physician, who arrived posthaste to care for him, but . . . well, the physician indicated that he will be unable to return to the palace for some time. I know that this is a terrible inconvenience to you, and I will offer any one of my personal servants as a replacement. Of course," he added quickly, "we will see to Francois's total comfort here until he is able to return to you."
Philippe seemed uncertain how to respond to this startling bit of news. "I am certain that you will," he replied with a hint of uncertainty in his voice that seemed to go unnoticed by the others, but was instantly noticed by D'Artagnan.
"Sire, if I might suggest," he said, a signal to Philippe that he was stepping in to avert a possible problem.
Philippe gratefully deferred to the captain. "Certainly, D'Artagnan." How strange it was to call his father by name!
"Since all new employees must be carefully screened for your safety, I suggest we promote from within the palace. We have many young men who would eagerly accept such a position until Francois is able to return."
"Yes. You are quite correct. LaCroix, your offer is noted, but I must decline."
LaCroix bowed, respectfully. "I understand, Your Majesty."
Philippe hesitated, wondering if he should go to Francois to see how he was doing. Would the king do such a thing? He glanced at D'Artagnan as if for instruction, and as expected, the Musketeer rose to the occasion.
"Sire, if you are ready, I believe we should return to the palace now. I will send someone out to check on Francois in a day or two. Right now, he will probably appreciate the rest."
"Very good," Philippe agreed. He started to turn away, then remembered the gift of wine that Louis had presented to his host. "What of the bottles of wine? Were they damaged in the fall?"
LaCroix looked extremely pained. "Regretfully, both were shattered, Your Majesty. I am terribly sorry that such a wonderful gift was lost."
"Since it was not your fault, I will have replacements sent to you."
LaCroix's eyes brightened, eagerly. "Thank you, Your Majesty! You are most kind."
With a nod, Philippe turned his horse away, and the entourage fell in behind him. The Musketeers formed a protective circle around him as they rode away from the house and proceeded toward Paris.