Chapter Twenty Six
It was a very long ride from LaCroix's estate back to Paris, and the entire way Philippe was acutely aware of the clopping of hooves of many horses all around him. He did not attempt to count the Musketeers who were there to protect him, for their numbers were great and it would have appeared odd for the king to do such a thing. He could not help but feel a bit awed by the sheer numbers of men who were there to keep him from harm. The Musketeers kept a watchful eye on the surrounding countryside and the small communities they passed, unaware that the man they had protected for years was at that moment being taken to the Bastille.
Beside him, the gray stallion ridden by D'Artagnan pranced with a gracefully arched neck as if showing off for the mares ridden by a couple of the king's helpers, and once it flattened its ears at the black gelding when it turned its head toward it. Trying to occupy his mind with things other than what faced him when he reached the palace, he wondered how it would have appeared if the two horses had gotten into a fight. He had no doubt that D'Artagnan could have controlled the gray, but also had no doubt that he, the new king, would have been dumped unceremoniously onto the hard dirt road.
Turning his head to his left, he glanced into the serious face of his father, and saw that his attention was directed at the nearby hills, the treetops, and the rooftops of the cottages that they passed. With a jolt, Philippe realized that, at that very moment, he could be targeted by any one of the people who had been wronged by his brother. Nervously, he looked to his right and saw that Athos was likewise preoccupied, scanning the area for threats to his safety. It was a humbling experience for the young man for whom so many people were willing to give their lives for his safety, and he vowed that it was one which he would never take for granted.
With his mind preoccupied with protecting Philippe, D'Artagnan had little time to think of Louis being escorted to the Bastille at that moment, but it was constantly in the back of his mind, for he could not push it aside completely. He knew those thoughts and concerns for his older son would come later when he retired for the night, but for now he welcomed the intensity of his position as head bodyguard.
Attentively, he shifted in his saddle to look behind him, assuring himself that no one was following. Satisfied, he faced front again, and his sharp eyes almost immediately noticed a gathering of people near the road ahead of them. They were too distant to determine any details, but large crowds were particularly dangerous, for it was impossible to watch every individual.
His hand instantly went to his musket pistol without withdrawing it. "Musketeers, be alert. There is something going on ahead of us. Remain watchful of your flank."
As one, the column of Musketeers readied themselves to protect their king as they drew nearer to the assembly. Those on the edges continued to observe the hills while the ones on the inside watched the crowd ahead of them.
D'Artagnan glanced at Philippe, and noticed that he too was observing the crowd with interest. "It is probably just a group of your subjects, eager to view their king," he said, hoping his calm voice would ease the young man's mind.
And indeed, that was all it was; a group of children standing beside the road bowing and curtseying to Philippe, and waving to him in their eagerness. D'Artagnan noticed that the house they resided in was up the hill and back from the road, but they must have seen the entourage nearing and come out for a look at the royal procession.
Philippe's eyes fell upon the children, observing their manner of dress. They were tattered but clean, and it was apparent that their mother maintained an orderly household even though they had little money to spare for frivolities. They were somewhat undernourished, but their father obviously managed to find a way to keep his family at least moderately fed.
One little girl caught his eye, a bright-eyed child of about seven who smiled happily. "Good afternoon, your majesty!" she called.
"To you also, child," he responded.
She beamed with elation and clutched her older sister's arm. "He spoke to me!"
Several of the Musketeers exchanged glances, and Philippe realized that exchanging pleasantries with peasants was something Louis probably would not do. However, by his way of thinking, it was a small beginning toward changing the way the public viewed the crown. He cast a discreet glance at D'Artagnan. His father gave a slight shake of his head, indicating that he should not have done that, but he also saw a hint of a smile on the older man's face, and knew that his father approved.
"I am beginning to realize that hearts are won by the simplest of gestures," Philippe said.
"Indeed they are, your majesty," D'Artagnan replied.
A half hour later, a large cluster of buildings could be seen on the horizon, and Philippe knew they were nearing a city of some size. Was this the beautiful city of Paris that he had heard so much about, or was it just another city they must pass en route to the palace?
"Paris is just up ahead," D'Artagnan said, answering his son's unspoken question. "We will take the most direct route to the palace." Turning to the Musketeer on his left, he said, "Take twelve men and ride ahead. Keep a watchful eye for security problems, and signal if you notice anything suspicious. Send a man ahead to inform the palace that the king will be arriving shortly."
"Yes, Captain." The Musketeer spurred his horse forward, and a group of thirteen men galloped ahead.
Philippe had never seen a city as large as Paris, and he tried not to stare at the beautiful buildings and cathedrals that lined the streets. The civilians that they passed, many of them of obvious wealth judging by their manner of dress, stopped to bow or curtsey to the king as he rode past. A few rode on fine horses, and they stopped to bow their heads respectfully and offer greetings.
This time, Philippe merely dipped his head in acknowledgement, and continued onward.
D'Artagnan was clearly trying to avoid most of the poorer sections of the city in the selected route to the palace, but bypassing them all was unavoidable due to the degree of poverty, and Philippe could hardly believe the difference in the appearance of those areas. As before, the people paused whatever they were doing to bow to him, but he was certain that the gesture was done begrudgingly, for he saw expressions of contempt in those careworn faces. And hunger. He recognized that immediately in the emaciated faces that glared up at him or watched from windows above as he rode past. Worst of all were the children, large eyed and innocent, wearing tattered, filthy rags and dirty faces, and he realized that he was seeing firsthand the indifference of his twin brother.
Horrified by what he was witnessing, he glanced again at his father's solemn face. D'Artagnan did not look at him, but he knew from the pressed lips and troubled eyes that he too was affected by the poverty.
As they passed a particularly dilapidated cluster of houses, Philippe's eyes fell upon an ancient old man sitting on a rickety wooden bench outside his ramshackle dwelling. There were open sores on his weathered old face similar to those he had seen on some of the prisoners in nearby cells at St. Marguerite. His white hair was thin and tangled, his face gaunt with hunger. The sunken eyes were yellowed with illness and clouded with cataracts, and the hands were gnarled with arthritis, yet in spite of his afflictions, the frail old man propped himself on his home-made cane as he struggled to his feet, and managed to bend slightly at the waist in a respectful bow.
Philippe jerked his horse to an abrupt halt. The others also stopped, and he knew there was a questioning look in his father's eyes as he turned toward him, but Philippe did not look back at him. He could not pull his eyes away from the old man, noticing the way his legs were barely able to support his weight. Amazingly, he saw none of the contempt in this man's face that he had seen in most of the others.
Realizing that he had the young king's rapt attention, the old man said in a thin, trembling voice, "Good day to you, your majesty. I was proud to serve in your father's army many years ago."
Philippe was so overcome with emotion that he could barely find his voice. This sick old man who should have been in bed, had managed out of respect for his monarch to stand and display his devotion to the king. How could his brother have treated his country's veterans so poorly? How could he possibly have allowed the poverty to reach this level?
"This man needs medical attention and nourishment," he said to D'Artagnan. "See that he gets it."
D'Artagnan seemed startled by the order, for Louis would never have done such a thing. "Your majesty –"
Philippe turned his eyes to his father, and D'Artagnan was surprised to see tears there. "Do it." He looked around the neighborhood, visibly shaken by the things he was seeing. Doors in many residences were hanging by one hinge, window shutters were missing or in need of repair, and filth and garbage was everywhere. From his experience in the prison, he knew that disease ran rampant in such filth. "We must discuss a way of cleaning up this mess and finding employment for these people."
The residents within hearing range looked at one another. There was scorn on their faces at what they believed would likely be another broken promise, but there was also a ray of hope in their eyes that perhaps this time it would be different.
"Yes, Sire," D'Artagnan replied.
With the order given, Philippe nudged the horse and moved ahead.
D'Artagnan exchanged glances with Athos, then nodded toward one of the subordinate officers. "Take two men and see that the king's order is carried out. Locate a physician and have him tend to this man. His services will be paid by the palace."
"Yes, Captain."
The three young Musketeers dismounted and approached the old gentleman while the rest of the royal procession continued onward.
At last, the entourage reached the palace, and they entered through the ornate gate. The huge residence stood before him in stark contrast to the poverty they had just left only a short time before, a grand palace the likes of which he had never seen. The lawn was perfectly manicured, and decorated with lush gardens, ornate fountains, and impressive statuaries, and Philippe took it all in as discreetly as possible, but inside he could not help but feel a bit overwhelmed.
They stopped at the foot of the massive stairs, and a guard appeared to hold the black gelding while Philippe dismounted. As his horse was led away, he paused to straighten his clothing, and to await D'Artagnan to signal whether he should go up the stairs first.
D'Artagnan turned his stallion over to one of the men, and addressed the column of Musketeers who had also come to a stop nearby. "Make certain that the grounds are secure for the ball this evening. Those of you who are on duty inside the palace will change into dress uniform. The rest will guard the exterior of the palace and the perimeters of the grounds."
The men dispersed to carry out their orders.
Impressed by their instant obedience to his father but trying not to show it, Philippe started toward the staircase, deciding that it was proper for the king to take the lead. He must have decided correctly, for D'Artagnan, and Athos followed, and they made their way up the steps toward the door.
Two men were standing at the top just outside the doorway, and by their manner of dress Philippe assumed that they were men of some importance, most likely men he should know. Leaning toward D'Artagnan, he whispered, "Who are they?"
"The man in the gray coat is Claude, your senior advisor. He was promoted to the position after Pierre was executed for distributing the rotten food. The man in the red coat is Girard. He has assumed the position of assistant advisor. You will see a great deal of both of them, so I will provide more details on them after you are settled. They are likely here to simply welcome you back, but if they indicate that they have business to attend inform them that you haven't the time right now; you will deal with it later."
Philippe nodded, observing the two men carefully. His heart was pounding wildly and he felt somewhat lightheaded as he proceeded up the steps. How could he possibly fool these people who worked with the king everyday, and convince them that he was Louis? The task seemed impossible!
"Calm yourself," Athos whispered. "You look like you're going to an execution!"
"If I fail, it could very well become the truth!" Philippe replied. "Not only for me, but for all of us!"
When he reached the top, the two advisors glanced apprehensively at Athos, apparently recognizing him, but neither made any comment as they bowed deeply to Philippe. The one named Claude said, "Welcome back, your majesty. I trust you had an enjoyable hunt?"
"I did, Claude," he replied, forcing a commanding tone to his voice.
"The Musketeer you sent ahead arrived a short time ago and informed us about . . . " Apparently he was reluctant to mention the word assassination in the presence of the king, for he quickly altered his wording, " . . . about what happened during your hunt. I am so relieved to see that you are unharmed."
Philippe swallowed his apprehension, and spoke in a clear, precise voice. "My Musketeers, both current and former, have once again demonstrated great courage and determination in their efforts to protect me."
"Indeed they have, Sire. And poor Francois. What a terrible thing to happen right before the ball!"
"Yes, it was," Philippe agreed. "While I am thinking of it, send over two more bottles of Bordeaux to LaCroix. Both were dropped in the accident through no fault of his own. And see that he has whatever he needs to properly care for Francois."
"Right away, Sire."
Feeling intense eyes upon him, Philippe turned toward Girard, and found that he was gazing at him rather intently. Catching the king's eye, he quickly explained, "You appear somewhat pale, your majesty. Are you feeling ill?"
"I am very tired. We have been hunting all morning and it was a lengthy ride back to Paris. That combined with the attempt on my life has sapped my strength. I wish to retire to my room for a while to rest."
"Very good, Sire."
D'Artagnan spoke up, "See if you can locate a suitable temporary replacement for Francois. Send him to the king's chamber in one hour to prepare him for the ball."
"Consider it done, Captain."
The two men bowed again, and Philippe moved past them and entered the magnificent structure through the main doorway into the huge echoing grand hall. Although he attempted to refrain from gaping, he simply couldn't stop himself. The decorative ceiling was high with magnificent columns, the walls adorned with fine paintings and tapestries. Never in his life had he seen such fine things.
D'Artagnan saw his eyes darting from one point to another, taking everything in with childlike wonder. "Close your mouth," he muttered.
Embarrassed, Philippe complied immediately.
Servants positioned around the entry hall bowed, and the maids who were on their hands and knees scrubbing the floors in preparation for the arrival of the guests stood up to curtsey to him. As he had been instructed to do, he paid them no heed, bypassing them as if they were not there. Constantly, his mind was working, thinking back to the model of the palace that Athos had constructed for him to memorize the rooms and corridors, and without missing a step he correctly moved in the direction of the king's bedchamber, looking as if he had taken that path every day of his life. The guards standing at the entrance to the royal chambers snapped to attention and Philippe maintained a neutral expression as he glanced at them in passing.
As they neared the king's chamber, a guard stepped forward to open the door for him.
"Send for my mother, please," Philippe instructed, unable to wait any longer to meet the woman who had given him life and from whom he had been separated moments after his birth. "I wish a word with her."
The guard bowed. "Right away, your majesty." Unable to leave his post at the king's door, he gestured to the guard standing across the hall to carry out the order.
Philippe stepped into the small entry hall first, followed by D'Artagnan and Athos. The guard closed the main door behind him. Philippe indicated the second set of double doors. "Through here?" he asked. It seemed a foolish question as soon as he had spoken the words, for there were no other doors through which to pass, but neither his father nor Athos seemed to consider the query out of the ordinary for the nervous young man.
"Yes."
D'Artagnan opened them, and Philippe experienced a twinge of guilt as he stepped into his brother's bedchamber, for he was invading the personal residence of someone else. He was immediately impressed by the size of it, for it was quite large, as large as Yvette's entire cottage had been, and it contained a huge bed, a large wardrobe, and a sitting area with chairs and tables. The huge full-length portrait of a man dominated one wall from ceiling to floor, and Philippe looked with interest at it, understanding who it was even before being told.
"That is the former king," D'Artagnan confirmed. He went to the portrait and pulled back the frame, revealing that it was a secret door. "There is a secret passage behind it leading to other areas of the palace. It was installed for security purposes, and only a handful of people are aware of its existence, so if you use them you must be careful not to be seen. Later, I will take you through it to show you where it exits. And behind that wardrobe is the stairs leading up to your mistress's rooms."
Philippe nodded to indicate his understanding and swallowed hard, wondering about the woman who resided one floor above him. "That would be Christine," he said.
"Yes," Athos replied. After a moment's pause, he added, "You nearly sent my heart into my throat when you spoke to that little girl. Louis has never been known to exchange greetings with his subjects."
"I considered that," Philippe told him, "but I thought it would be a good beginning toward improving relations with the people. A small token, followed by many more."
"That lone would not have raised too many eyebrows, but there is also the matter with the old man," D'Artagnan added. "That is a very noticeable inconsistency."
"He reminded me of men I had seen in the prison shortly before they died; the sunken eyes, the sallow skin," Philippe explained, a distant look in his eyes as he recalled the horrors of the prison. "He is as much a prisoner as I was; only in his prison there are no bars that separate him from a better life. Only poverty. He is ill and he is starving to death. He needed help, and he needed it urgently. Did you see how he struggled to get up?"
D'Artagnan placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "I am very proud that you wish to help your people, but it cannot be done all at once. Tomorrow, we will discuss what will be done in the poorer sections of town, but I must urge caution. You must not take on too much at once."
"Your father is right," Athos agreed. "We cannot move too quickly without calling attention to the abrupt changes. The king's indulgence in his subjects must be a gradual change."
"And it will be so," Philippe assured him. He smiled, remembering the way the girl's face had lit up when he had spoken to her. "Did you see that child's face when I answered her greeting?"
Athos smiled, patiently. "She will remember this day for the rest of her life."
They heard the outer door open, and a voice announced, "Her majesty, the queen mother."
The guard closed the door behind her, and Philippe turned expectantly toward it, waiting anxiously for his first glimpse of his mother. Self-consciously, he straightened his jacket and smoothed down the cravat. A moment later the woman entered the room through the second set of doors, and their eyes met for the first time ever.
"Louis, I –" She stopped, a puzzled expression coming to her face as she gazed upon her son, detecting that there was something different, something that most people would overlook but which a mother would notice. Her heart quickened. "Philippe?"
"Mother," Philippe said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I have waited so long for this moment." He drew a deep shaky breath. "To finally meet you."
She went to him and placed a tentative hand on his cheek as if to confirm that he was real, that her lost son was actually standing before her. He placed a gentle hand over hers. "Philippe? Is it true?" She looked again at D'Artagnan as if for verification.
"A better opportunity than the ball presented itself," he replied. "We made the transfer during the hunt. It was necessary to bring Lieutenant Andre in on the switch, but I believe he will maintain his silence."
She looked back at Philippe, her eyes shining with tears. "My son!" she wept, joyfully, as she drew him into her arms for their first embrace. "Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of you!"
"I have thought of you as well, Mother," he replied, his arms encircling her, holding her tightly as if in desperation. "Always, I wondered what you were like, but I thought I must have been orphaned. Yvette – the woman who raised me -- she never told me anything about where I had come from."
They drew apart, and Anne looked at her son's face, as if memorizing every detail. "They took you from me as soon as you were born, and they told me that you had died moments later. A part of my soul died that day, a part that has never been fully restored until this moment." Her eyes went to D'Artagnan and then to Athos. "Thank you both for freeing my son and bringing him back to me. But I love both of my sons. What of Louis? Please tell me he is well."
"Louis is fine," D'Artagnan assured her. "Perhaps a bit frightened, but there was no way to avoid that."
Her face clouded at the thought of her older son now suffering in the iron mask. "First one son lived in the iron mask, and now the other. You promised that he will soon be free of such humiliation," she reminded him.
"You have my word. I, also, have a personal interest in his welfare."
"My lady," Athos ventured, drawing her attention from D'Artagnan. "Aramis went out yesterday to examine the location to which he will be moved. He believes that it will take minimal renovations to secure it for him, so with a little luck, he can be removed from the Bastille within a month."
"So long," she said, regretfully. "I had hoped . . . " Her voice trailed.
D'Artagnan stepped forward and grasped her hand. "I know. So did I, but I know Aramis will see that things progress as rapidly as possible. Right now, we must simply be happy that Philippe will have the opportunity to right the wrongs committed by Louis, and the people of France may know a better life. In time, it is my hope that Louis will come to understand why we had to remove him from the throne."
"That is asking a great deal of him, for he has lost everything."
"I know. It will take some time, but I am certain that he will come out of this a better man than before."
"Mother," Philippe ventured. "If there had been any other way . . . I mean, I feel badly about taking everything that is his, but --"
She smiled sadly, and clutched his arm. "I know, my son. But you mustn't concern yourself with that. You have committed no wrongdoing. Had Louis been a better king, there would have been no need to remove him. And now, we must concentrate on getting through the ball this evening. The guests will be arriving soon, and you must be ready. I heard about what happened to Francois."
"That was a remarkable accident which occurred at a truly opportune moment," D'Artagnan said, bewildered by this unique twist of fate. "It was totally unexpected, and it certainly benefits our cause."
"Then it appears as if we have the intervention and approval of a higher power than any of us," she said, her resolve strengthened by this turn of events.
"I can only assume that to be the case. I instructed Claude to find a temporary replacement for Francois. He will come to us soon to begin to prepare the king for the festivities."
She nodded approvingly. "That is good."
"Philippe will need some instruction from you before he goes to the ballroom," D'Artagnan suggested. "This is his first experience at anything like this. We have instructed him on court etiquette as much as we can, but you will likely think of things that we have not."
She smiled at her son, pleased that she had been invited to help prepare him. "I will return after you are dressed," she promised. "But now, I must prepare as well. I will see you soon."
With a final lingering gaze at her lost son, the son she had never expected to see, she returned to the door and departed.
"She is so beautiful," Philippe said, more to himself than to anyone else. "This is the happiest day of my life; to have both of my parents in the same room with me is a joy I had never expected to know."
Athos placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder. "Family is a wonderful thing, and I am pleased that there is joy in your life after all these years. But now, we must return to business. Do you remember the floor plan of the palace that I provided for you and the location of the ballroom?"
Philippe nodded, again envisioning Athos's model of the palace and the placement of the ballroom within it.
"Then you know the way. We will not be able to accompany you to the ballroom; you must go on your own."
He looked at D'Artagnan, hopefully. "Will you be there?"
"I will be there, but it will be necessary for me to keep my distance. Your mother will be there to guide you through most of this evening."
A knock at the door drew their attention, and D'Artagnan stepped into the entry way and opened the door.
A timid looking young man, hardly more than sixteen, stood nervously in the corridor. His thin body was half-bent at the waist, and D'Artagnan was unable to tell if he had stopped in a mid-bow or if he was suffering from a stomach ache. "Forgive me for intruding, but I have been instructed to prepare the king's bath. The water is heating now. Whenever he is ready . . . "
"I will tell him," D'Artagnan replied. "He will be with you shortly."
"Yes, Monsieur." The boy bent lower in a respectful bow to the Musketeer, inspiring an amused smile.
"What is your name, boy?" he asked.
"Gael."
"Gael, I am D'Artagnan, head of the king's bodyguards, so I imagine we will be seeing much of each other until Francois returns."
"Yes, Monsieur!" he said, breathlessly. "I know who you are."
"Are you ill?"
"No, Monsieur. It is just . . . well, attending to the king. My stomach feels as if it is alive!"
D'Artagnan could not help but smile at the boy's obvious awe. "Has anyone instructed you on your tasks?"
The boy shook his head. "I have been told very little except that I must help the king bathe and dress. Francois has always done this. I – I do not know precisely how much I am expected to do."
"Simply be alert to the king's needs," D'Artagnan suggested. "Do as much or as little as he requires. I must urge you, however, to be respectful of his privacy as you carry out your duties. Do not carry tales. Assisting the king is a great honor; use it wisely."
"I will," he promised, bending in another bow.
"You need not bow to me, Gael. I serve the king as well. He will join you shortly."
He closed the door, and returned to the bedchamber. "It is a young man named Gael. He will be assuming Francois' duties until he is able to return. He is very young, totally inexperienced, and terribly frightened."
"As am I," Philippe reminded him.
D'Artagnan gave him a mildly reproachful look, but did not acknowledge the comment. "As I was saying, he is also extremely nervous, for he has never performed tasks like this before, so he will likely be a bit awkward. He is preparing your bath, so whenever you are ready you may go."
Philippe sighed, unhappily. He had been dreading this as much as anything else. "It does not please me to have someone watching me while I take a bath. Or even worse, trying to help me!"
"It is not as bad as all that, Philippe," Athos said. "He will do as much or as little as you prefer, and he knows that he must be sensitive to the king's privacy to avoid the dishonor of being replaced. Let him know what you expect of him. His inexperience is in your favor. But you must be firm and specific. Louis is never indecisive."
"The king's dressing room is beyond that door," D'Artagnan said, nodding toward the far wall where another door was located. "The bath is just beyond."
Resolutely, Philippe walked to the door and waited for D'Artagnan to open it for him, then lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and stepped into the dressing room with an outward appearance of confidence.
Gael was waiting for him and bowed deeply. "Your majesty, it is a great honor to serve you. I will strive to please you."
Philippe glanced over his shoulder at D'Artagnan, who gave an encouraging smile, then closed the door, leaving him alone with the valet.
D'Artagnan turned to Athos, and both men heaved huge sighs of relief that the exchange had been successfully carried out and Philippe was safely inside the palace, then they both laughed at their simultaneous reactions.
"It is done," Athos said. "At long last, a king is on the throne who is worthy of our service. The feeling is indescribable." He paused, growing serious again as he gazed at his best friend, whose eyes continued to express the pain of his loss. "I only regret that it was at your expense, D'Artagnan. I am humbled by your sacrifice."
"It is the price of my sin, Athos. It grieves me to know that I will likely never see Louis again, but they are both alive and well, and that is the most important thing. I only fear that Philippe will attempt to do too much too soon. He is like a young horse that has been confined its entire life, experiencing freedom for the first time."
"Well, he has the old horses to keep him in line. It may take some nipping and kicking from the four of us to teach him the value of self-restraint, but in the end, we will prevail."
Outside, the chapel bell tolled five o'clock, and the two men glanced toward the window, listening to the comforting sounds, even though they could not see it from where they stood. The guests would begin arriving within the hour.
"I must get cleaned up and into my dress uniform," D'Artagnan said when the last chime had died away.
"I will remain here and wait for the king," Athos offered.
"Thank you, my friend. I will return as soon as I can."
D'Artagnan left the king's bedchamber and moved down the corridor to his own room. Just as he turned to enter, he saw Lieutenant Andre walking swiftly toward him, so he motioned his subordinate to enter the room with him.
"This prisoner has been safely delivered, Captain," Andre reported, closing the door behind him. "He has been taken to an empty tower room on the fourth level. Per your instructions, he is completely isolated from other prisoners and will be attended only by the deaf-mute."
D'Artagnan nodded, regretting that his son must be treated so terribly. "Is he well?" he asked, his voice soft with concern.
"A bit apprehensive, but he is bearing up to it. So far, he has been very quiet. I think the talks you had with him at the last, about his behavior and eventually removing the mask, have influenced him." He hesitated briefly. "Captain, will he truly be removed from the Bastille, in time?"
"Yes. We have located a place to which he will be removed after it has been renovated to prevent his escape. I do not think I could have gone along with this plan if it included keeping him in the mask for the rest of his life. I could not bear knowing such a thing."
Andre could easily see the pain in his commanding officer's eyes at the thought of the deposed king being confined in the mask forever. "You have served him since he was born, and he has allowed you to speak to him in ways that no one else dared. I believe he respects you as no other. It is almost . . . " His voice trailed, and he smiled rather sheepishly. "This may sound strange, but sometimes it was almost as if he regarded you as a second father, someone to look up to."
D'Artagnan smiled, sadly. "That is not so strange, Lieutenant. I never married and never experienced the joys of fatherhood, so it is probably true that I have grown closer to Louis than I should have. It is no secret that I love him almost like a son, for I have devoted my life to looking after his safety. That is what makes this so difficult. Did the sight of the mask generate curiosity?"
"Yes, the guards were quite curious, but as you ordered, I explained that he was a political prisoner and that he should be well treated but kept isolated. I also told them that you would forward written orders to them tomorrow, since there will be little time tonight with the ball."
"Good."
"How is the king doing?"
D'Artagnan knew he was referring to Philippe. "He is a bit apprehensive as well, but he is settling in. The true test will be at the ball to see how he handles himself among so many guests, but I have every confidence that he will fine."
The lieutenant lowered his gaze to the floor, still experiencing traces nervousness about what they were doing. "This is a very dangerous thing we have done," he said.
D'Artagnan walked slowly to the window and gazed out at the lawn, where he had watched Anne walk to the chapel every evening, but now his thoughts were with Louis, confined in a dank, dark prison where he would be kept in isolation for perhaps a month or more. "Dangerous and personally difficult," he said. "We have all lived through dangerous events before, but when I first became a Musketeer, I would never have imagined myself doing such a thing as we have done. But I believe it was the right thing for everyone involved, and especially for the country. Already, our king is attempting to help those with the greatest need. Tomorrow, we will work on the details." He turned his head to look as the lieutenant. "You saved my life earlier," he added. "I want you to know that I appreciate that."
"It is nothing. You would have done the same," Andre replied with a dismissive gesture. "I appreciate that you and the others have taken me into your confidence on this matter. In spite of my initial misgivings, I am honored to be included in this effort, for we have truly changed the course of history."
The course of history has been changed in more ways than you realize, D'Artagnan thought, then answered, "That we have, but now we must both change into dress uniform. The ball will begin shortly. Where are Aramis and Porthos?"
"They accompanied me back to the palace, and said they were going to secure the passages, and that they would be in the ballroom keeping an eye on things."
"Good. I will see you shortly."
Andre slipped out of the room, but D'Artagnan lingered at the window, his thoughts remaining for a time with the son he had loved since birth. It would not be easy for Louis during his confinement, but the ray of light at the end would be his eventual removal from the prison.