Chapter Twenty Nine

Gerard sat quietly by himself in the king's ornate office, awaiting the kings return and pondering the events of the previous evening, still puzzled by the mysterious changes in the monarch's demeanor. Louis' mood always improved during parties and festivities, but much of his behavior had been so out of the ordinary that it left the bewildered advisor wondering what could have inspired these changes.

His forehead was still furrowed when Claude entered the room with the documents requiring Louis' signature. As the senior advisor approached the small work table, he noticed his colleague's puckered brow.

"Good morning, Gerard," he said in greeting.

Gerard turned his head, and his expression indicated that he had not heard the other man approach. "Good morning," he responded, quietly.

"You appear very distracted," Claude observed as he placed the documents on the work table and began to ready them for the king. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing is wrong. I just don't understand some of the things that happened last night," came the vague response, followed by a slight clarification, "Does the king seem different to you?"

"Different?" Claude asked, looking up from his papers. "In what way?"

Gerard hesitated. It was forbidden to speak of the king in ways that could be construed as gossip, and that is exactly what his concerns would sound like. Should he be overheard, he would likely lose his position. He glanced quickly toward the empty doorway to confirm that they were alone, then leaned forward as he said quietly, "Well, do not repeat this, but he seemed more pleasant last night at the ball."

Claude smiled. "Louis is always more pleasant during a ball. He loves the festivities."

"I know that, but he was much more agreeable and more attentive to his mother. Did you notice the way he stayed by her side? They were even holding hands much of the time. He showed more attention to her last night than has in months, perhaps years. In fact, he seemed to enjoy her company even more than that of his dance partner. Speaking of which, doesn't it seem odd to you that he dismissed her after only one dance?"

Claude shrugged, returning his attention to the documents. "Given his love of the dance, it might ordinarily be considered odd, but I overheard him say that he had strained his back during the hunt yesterday morning. It is likely that he simply did not feel up to dancing. A strained back can be quite painful."

This was news to Gerard, and seemed adequate explanation for abandoning the dance so early. "I was not aware that he had injured himself. Yes, that might have something to do with it." He fell silent for a moment, watching as Claude sorted through the papers, then asked, "Did you see him step on his partner's dress?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever known Louis to make such a mistake on the dance floor?"

Claude's eyes darted up briefly before returning to his papers. "No, but it may be related to the strained back. That would make him less flexible, and might cause such an error." He chuckled, softly. "He seemed rather amused by it, and the guests certainly enjoyed it."

"He was definitely having a good time. What about the queen mother? Have you ever known her to remain so long at one of Louis' balls? I doubt that I have seen her ten times in the years that I have been at the palace, usually walking to or from the chapel. She is said to be a recluse. If she appears at the festivities at all, she makes her brief appearance and then retires to her room."

"Perhaps she was enjoying herself," Claude suggested.

Gerard's mind worked furiously, struggling to better convey his thoughts. Remembering the overweight dancer, he asked, "Did you see the king assist that woman who had fallen? Have you ever known him to do something like that before?"

Claude set aside the first set of documents and reached for the next set. "I admit, I was a bit taken aback by that incident. He seemed in a particularly good mood, but I fail to see why this is something you are so worried about."

Gerard shook his head, unable to fully explain, even to himself, why he felt so uneasy. "I am not worried. It is just that I have never seen him behave like this before. Even his eyes seem different; less intense. It is almost . . . " He paused, certain that Claude would think him crazy for even suggesting such a thing. "It is almost as if he is a different man."

This time, Claude lowered the documents and looked at him in surprise. "A different man? You are speaking nonsense, Gerard."

Gerard shrugged, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "I know, that is impossible, and I am probably being foolish about this entire matter, but I cannot help but wonder at the change in him."

Claude reached for the next document. "You worry too much, my friend," he said. "The king and queen mother were clearly enjoying themselves last night. There is no explanation other than that. I only hope the king's good mood has carried over to today. He is much easier to work with when –" He broke off abruptly as he held the document up for closer inspection. "Have you any knowledge of this?" he asked, passing it to the other man.

Gerard took the piece of parchment in his hand for examination. "It is a bill for services rendered," he said. "By a physician? No, this is the first I have heard of this. Where did you get it?"

"It was brought this morning by courier. I placed it in the stack intending to look at it later."

"Well, it must be in error. The king has his own physician."

"Did you read the note?" Claude asked, tapping his forefinger on the handwritten paragraph at the bottom of the page. "It indicates that the physician was summoned to one of Paris's poorer sections to care for an elderly man, and the king instructed that the bill be forwarded to the palace for payment."

"That is most peculiar," Gerard agreed. "Still, it is keeping with the unusual behavior of the king this past day. Why should he be so concerned about the welfare of a sick old man? He never has been concerned about the well-being of his subjects before."

Claude shrugged. "Perhaps the king was feeling generous," he suggested, then raised his hand to halt the next comment that he knew his colleague would make. "No, I have never known him to exhibit such sentiment for the poor and afflicted, but it would improve his standing in the community, would it not?"

"Is that what you think this is about? Improving his image?"

"Why not? He has been very unpopular lately. There has been rioting in the streets –"

"And a few weeks ago he ordered them to be shot!" he retorted. "The harshest penalty there is against people who are merely trying to survive. Not to mention the fact that he had your former partner executed for something that was not his fault."

Claude was silent for a moment in memory of his late friend and partner. "Perhaps he has come to realize that issuing the order to shoot rioters will only result in more discontent among the people. The common people are very important for the country. They are the ones who do the labor which benefits the kingdom. Without them, the nation cannot function."

"That is very true, Claude," said a voice from behind them.

Both men jumped and turned toward that voice, recognizing it as that of their king. He stood framed in the doorway, his expression very stern.

The color drained from Claude's face as he and Gerard leaped to their feet to bow to the king. Gerard's foot caught on the leg of his chair, and it overturned and clattered noisily to the floor, adding to the sudden tension that permeated the room.

"Your majesty, I –" Claude began, then his explanation failed him, for there was no justification for gossiping about the royal family. It was over for them, for they would surely be dismissed. "Forgive us, your majesty," he added, lamely. "We should not have been discussing these things. It is just that we received a bill this morning that we felt must surely be in error, and it led to other –"

"From the physician I summoned to assist the old man?" Philippe asked.

Gerard and Claude looked quickly at each other, then at the king. "Well, yes, sire," Claude said, then looked at Gerard again in surprise. "You summoned him, your majesty?"

"This astonishes you?" Philippe asked with a slightly mocking tone that sounded very reminiscent of Louis.

Neither of the advisors wanted to answer that question, and Philippe found that fact quite amusing. They feared him, and this was a strange new sensation. No one had ever been afraid of him before. Instinctively, he knew that this was another thing that Athos and D'Artagnan had warned him about. Power could be intoxicating, and he must fight its corruptive allure.

Behind him, D'Artagnan and Athos observed the exchange silently, waiting to see how the new king would handle the situation.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Philippe entered the room and strolled casually to the desk, discreetly examining the décor and the position of the furniture as he walked. When he reached the desk, he walked around it to the chair, carefully observing the position of the quill, ink well, and other items that lay atop it, for he knew he must reach for them as if they were second nature. He must not pause to hunt for anything.

Even though he had never seen the desk in his life, he moved to the chair and sat down as relaxed as if he had been doing just that every day. The two advisors turned as he walked past, facing him at all times. Gerard bent quickly to retrieve the chair that he had knocked over, and returned it to its correct position.

Philippe leaned back in his chair casually to observe them in the arrogant demeanor that Louis was famous for. "It grieves me to think that my people believe me uncaring of their needs, when in fact I care very deeply. As you said, the people are the life's blood of France. Without them, the country cannot function."

Athos and D'Artagnan entered the room, and both Claude and Gerard became aware of them for the first time. Both appeared very surprised to see the former Musketeer who had attempted to assassinate the king and had caused such a ruckus on the grounds. It had been surprising enough for Claude to have seen Athos inside the palace in the company of D'Artagnan earlier, but seeing him inside the king's office was another matter entirely! Their eyes darted to the king, as if silently requesting the explanation they dared not ask for verbally.

"Oh, did I not tell you?" Philippe asked, correctly interpreting their expressions. "I have brought Athos, Porthos, and Aramis on staff as my royal council. Porthos and Aramis are attending to other matters at this time, but they will be here at a later date."

The two advisors traded glances again with uncertainty, and Philippe knew they were fearful of being replaced by the three famous Musketeers. He had no intention of firing them, but as Louis he would have to alleviate their fears without appearing too sympathetic of their concerns. He would also have to address the gossip. While they had stood at the door listening to the conversation between the two advisors, D'Artagnan had whispered in his ear, "You must deal swiftly and firmly with this."

"I overheard some of what you were discussing," he said, his voice stern. "I am very displeased that my two trusted advisors were making speculations regarding my mother and myself. You are aware that this is forbidden."

Claude looked as though he might faint. "Yes, your majesty," he mumbled, eyes averted.

Philippe looked at Gerard, awaiting his answer.

"Yes, your majesty," he said, his voice shaking slightly. He glanced at Claude, the senior advisor, and decided to make the noble sacrifice. "It is entirely my fault, Sire. I am the one who –"

"It is unimportant who initiated the gossip," Philippe said, sternly. "The point is, it happened. I consider each of you equally responsible." He paused briefly to give them time to respond, but neither spoke. "However," he continued, "I will forgive this one infraction, but I want it known that I will tolerate no more gossip about me or my mother. Is this perfectly clear?"

"Yes, your majesty," the two men murmured, their voices jumbling together. "Thank you, your majesty," Claude added.

"As for the bill, you will send the good doctor the payment he requests, and if the patient requires additional treatment, we will pay for that also. Now, I assume we have other business to conduct."

"I have some documents that require your signature, your majesty," Claude said as he stepped forward and presented the first document, placing it carefully on the desk in front of the king with trembling fingers, then stepped back, a gesture which reminded Philippe that his subjects always kept their distance from him. "The first is an order for the execution of the prisoner who was apprehended last week on the palace grounds," the advisor explained.

Philippe had never seen an execution order before, so he picked up the document to examine it. The script was bold and precise, and the wording of the order was very formal. His eyes lingered on the man's name, an act which reinforced the fact that this was a human being, not some inanimate object without importance, before continuing down the page to the offense: illegal entry with the intent to assassinate the king of France.

Seeing that the king was taking an inordinate amount of time to review the order, Claude leaned forward and pointed to the space at the bottom right corner that he had provided for the signature. "Right there, your majesty."

With an unhurried demeanor, Philippe continued to examine the document, but what he was actually doing was considering how he should react to it. This was one point that Athos and D'Artagnan had not covered with him. Should he simply hand it back to Claude? Should he write something across it to show that he had rejected it? What would Louis do if refusing a document? Finally, after careful consideration, he ripped the order in half.

Claude flinched noticeably as he watched the order destroyed and for a moment Philippe thought he would pounce on the pieces in an attempt to recover them. "Are you – are you displeased with the wording, your majesty?" he asked, somewhat shaken by the king's reaction.

"No, Claude, the wording was very exquisite."

"Then what, sire?" the advisor protested. "It was under your orders that I composed the directive. You said it should be scheduled for day after tomorrow." He held up another parchment. "You also requested an order for the executioner."

Philippe held out his hand expectantly, and when Claude hesitated, he snapped his fingers to demand instant compliance. Reluctantly, the advisor handed him the sheet. After reading it quickly, the young king ripped it in half as well, and placed the pieces of both documents on the edge of his desk. "Now that the ball is over, I have given the matter a great deal of thought, and I have reconsidered the manner of punishment for this man. I have decided to rescind the execution order."

"R-reconsidered, your majesty?" Claude stammered. Lifting his eyes from his king, he looked at Gerard in astonishment. Never in his years as advisor had he known the king to rescind an execution order.

"That is correct. I have reached the conclusion that there is a better way to deal with this particular incident."

"What is it you wish to do, Sire?" Gerard asked.

"For starters, we must reduce the rent on the tenants. I believe the raising of it was a very unpopular move and led to this man committing an act that he probably would never have attempted otherwise. And return his oxen to him. The land he leases is of no use to him if he cannot till the soil."

The two advisors were speechless, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Do not look so surprised, gentlemen!" Philippe added with a smile. "If this man is executed, I lose a tenant. It is as simple as that. I dare say, I will probably lose even more who cannot pay the increase, so in returning his livestock and reducing his rent back to what it was, everyone benefits in the long run. My tenants have a roof over their heads and land to work, and the crown has the continued income that it would not have in the event of an exodus."

"Oh!" Claude said abruptly. "I see, your majesty! Excellent strategy! Excellent! I will see to it right away. I will draft a release order immediately." The eagerness in his voice told Philippe that the advisor had not been in favor of the increase in rent, and had probably urged Louis at the time to reconsider. He seemed so relieved that Philippe suspected he had also disapproved of the ordered execution, for he had most likely been forced to draft the execution order for his own partner.

"Yes, do that," Philippe agreed with enough haughtiness in his voice to resemble Louis. "However," he added, drawing the rapt attention from the advisors again. "In dealing with this assassin, we must not appear too lenient. He did intend to commit a serious crime, after all. By releasing this man and giving back his livestock, we are returning to him his ability to provide for himself and his family. In return for forgiving his crime, he must never come near the palace or to me, or he will be shot on sight." His voice was so firm and steady that no one guessed just how difficult it was to speak the words. "I will not be so merciful a second time."

"I will make certain he understands this, sire," Claude said, tremendously thankful that he would not have to witness another execution. "Your mercy and generosity will go a long way toward building a positive relationship between you and your subjects."

"I may decide to take that issue a step farther," Philippe said, thinking this the perfect lead-in for helping the poor in the community.

"In what way, your majesty?"

"As I was entering Paris yesterday from my hunt, I noticed that there is great poverty in the city, far more than I realized. Dwellings were nearly caving in upon their residents, the streets were littered with trash, and there was a foul smell in the air. It nearly took my breath away!"

Claude exchanged glances with Gerard again. "Well, Sire," he began, hesitantly. "The poverty has been here for a very long while and it is why so many people are discontent."

"How is it that I have never noticed it before? How have we allowed such a thing to happen? The filth and the stench are overwhelming in those areas. We must come up with a plan to remedy that. It would be most unfortunate should our fair city be visited by foreign dignitaries and have them see such poverty. Paris is too beautiful to let it fall into ruin."

"Indeed it is, your majesty," Gerard agreed. "What do you propose?"

"We must think of a way to renovate these areas and find employment for the citizens. There must be work that they could do. I would like input from both of you on this, so be thinking about how we might accomplish this."

"Yes, your majesty," they chimed.

"Is there anything else?" Philippe asked.

"If it pleases your majesty, I have a few more documents that require your signature." He placed the first one on the desk in front of the king, his expression anxious, as if fearful that it would be destroyed along with the previous orders.

Philippe picked it up and examined it. It was a requisition to commission an artist to paint a new portrait of the king. He looked up at the advisor for explanation.

"You requested last week that I commission a new portrait, your majesty," he reminded him.

"Yes, I remember," Philippe said, thoughtfully. Of course, it had been Louis who had made the request, but the new king was not quite ready to sit for a portrait. There were too many important matters to attend first. "In light of other, more pressing matters, I believe it is in our best interest to postpone this portrait until a later date." He passed the document back to him. "File this away for a few months, and we will see where we stand."

"Yes, your majesty." He accepted the document, pleased that it would not have to be re-written at a later date, then presented another for the king's signature. It was the bill or the physician's services, so he reached for the quill and signed Louis' name just as he had practiced so diligently while in the village.

As he handed it back, Claude presented another, a simple requisition to pay the musicians from the ball the evening before. "And this one also, your majesty."

Dipping the quill in the ink well again, Philippe signed his brother's name to the document and passed it back to him.

"Gerard and I will see to compiling a list of suggestions to renovate the poor sections of the city, and I will write an order for the immediate release of the farmer, your majesty. I will bring it for your signature this afternoon."

"That will be all."

The two men bowed again, and backed away, but as they reached the door, Claude turned back. "Your forgiveness is most appreciated, your majesty."

Philippe gave a dismissive wave of his hand, and the two advisors left the room, pulling the door closed behind them.

Before anyone spoke, Athos went to the door and opened it. The two advisors were hurrying away to carry out their orders, so he closed it again. "They're gone," he announced. "You did very well, your majesty. Very well indeed."

"I was uncertain what to do about that portrait," he admitted. "I am not yet ready to commit to a sitting."

"The portrait is a minor thing," D'Artagnan said. "It can wait until you are more comfortable. There are portraits all over this palace, and in fact Louis has only just completed a sitting for a new one a few weeks ago. You handled yourself very well in dealing with the execution. And I approve of your idea to involve the advisors in working out a plan to help the people of the city. And you dealt with the gossip issue most effectively. In fact," he added with a smile. "I am thinking that you may not require as much training as we had initially thought."

"I was thinking the same thing," Athos agreed. "You are settling into your new position very well. You have an intelligent way of thinking, and your tone of voice is very much like Louis'."

"The advisors both seemed suspicious when we first walked in," Philippe said. "Will they be a problem?"

"No, not any longer," D'Artagnan replied. "I dare say you put the fear into both of them about their gossiping."

"I hated treating them so cruelly," Philippe said. "Both were fearful that I would dismiss them."

"It was necessary," Athos reminded him. "I doubt that either one of them will continue their debate on your change of demeanor."

"I must add that ripping up the execution order was a nice touch," D'Artagnan added with a smile. "Louis has been known to do that very thing when displeased."

Philippe exhaled with relief. "I was uncertain what to do about it, how he might react. Claude seemed most upset by it."

"That is because he is the one who writes out the documents, and he has been known to rewrite them numerous times before presenting them to the king. He had likely worked on that one document for several hours."

"I feel badly about destroying it, then," Philippe said, regretfully.

"It is something that Louis has done, so you are keeping with behavior that is similar to his. You must have noticed how timid Claude is when he offers you a document. It is because he never knows which one is going to survive and which will have to be rewritten. As Athos said, you did very well. I am proud of you. Now, before we do anything else, we need to detail a set of orders to the Bastille from you describing the care of your brother."

"What do we call him?" Athos asked, curiously. "Obviously, we cannot refer to him as Louis."

D'Artagnan was quiet for a moment, considering how the former king might be addressed in correspondence, and reached the painful conclusion that it was best that he had no identity at all. "There will be no name given. He will simply be referred to as the prisoner in the mask. It is safer that way. No one can attempt to trace his origin if he is totally anonymous. My handwriting is well known to the prison guards. Athos, will you write the draft?"

With a silent nod, Athos opened the desk drawer and withdrew a blank sheet of parchment, which he placed on the desk top. "Excuse me, your majesty, may I?" he asked, reaching for the quill.

Philippe gestured for him to take it, so he dipped it in the ink well and poised it over the parchment.

"What I will first do," he explained, "is make a list of the issues we wish to address, and then I will draft a letter to the captain of the guards for your approval. You mentioned yesterday that he must have a cot to sleep on, so we will start with that." He jotted that down on the paper.

"And a reasonably comfortable mattress," Philippe said. "I had no such luxury. I was provided only a small pile of straw on which to sleep, and it was insufficient to cushion the stone floor. He must also have a good blanket."

"And a plump pillow," D'Artagnan suggested.

Philippe looked at him strangely for a moment, then said, "Give him the pillow, but it will offer little comfort when his head is encased in iron. Trust me, he will not feel the softness of the pillow at all, but at least it will elevate his head somewhat."

D'Artagnan felt the stab of reality pierce his heart, and he leaned his hands on the edge of the desk and bowed his head, regretfully. "I will be glad when this is over, and he is in the house where we can remove that damnable contraption. You have no idea how painful it is for me to hear these things that were done to you and are now being done to him."

"I am sorry, Father," Philippe apologized. "I do not tell you this to upset you. You are doing what you can to make him for comfortable."

D'Artagnan took a deep breath, and returned his attention to the matter at hand. "I wish him to be well fed; he must be provided decent cuts of meat, vegetables, and bread. And his water is to be clean. Not the stale water they provide from the barrels, but fresh from the well."

The quill scratched rapidly on the parchment as Athos wrote down the suggestions. "They will wonder at so many concessions given to a prisoner, especially for one who attempted to murder the king."

"We will state that he is a political prisoner of high standing, which is the truth. They need know no more than that."

"Anything else?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan thought for a moment. "Include a reminder that the deaf-mute is the only guard permitted inside his cell-block. No one else is to have any contact with him at all. Emphasize this with strong wording."

Athos dipped the quill in the ink again, and continued writing. Philippe had never seen Athos's handwriting before, and watched curiously as the former Musketeer wrote rapidly in straight lines across the page. Obviously well educated, his penmanship was bold and surprisingly ornate, attesting to his noble upbringing. When complete, he read the list aloud, then looked up at Philippe and D'Artagnan for any additions.

"I think that about covers it," the captain said.

Athos withdrew another sheet of parchment and carried it to the worktable that had been vacated earlier by the two advisors. "I will get to work on this, then. It is easier to compose when I am alone, so you two may wish to take a walk or something."

"Would you show me the secret passages?" Philippe asked, eagerly.

"Very well," D'Artagnan agreed. "Athos, we will return shortly." To Philippe, he said, "You may enter the passages at various locations in the palace, including this room. The door is there, behind that bookcase." He went to it and demonstrated how the bookcase slid open to reveal the hidden passage behind it.

With a look of wonder on his face, Philippe stepped through the opening. It was darker inside the tunnel, and the air contained a musty, cavelike smell. Dust had settled on the floor, confirming that the cleaning servants were totally unaware of its existence.

D'Artagnan entered behind him, and pulled the bookcase closed. The darkness increased to a degree that made it difficult to see. "We will need to allow our eyes to grow accustomed to the dark," he said.

"How many people are aware of these passages?" Philippe asked, curiously.

"Only a handful. The architect who designed them knows about them. As head bodyguard, I was told of them and use them occasionally, and I informed Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. The queen knows of them, and Louis. And now you."

"Lieutenant Andre does not know about them?"

"Not yet. He knows only of a few passages beneath the palace, but he knows nothing of these. When I retire, I will recommend him as my replacement, and he will be informed at that time. At the moment, however, he has no pressing need to know."

Gradually, as his eyes grew accustomed to the low level of light that managed to seep into the passages, Philippe saw a long, dusky corridor, so narrow that he could easily touch the walls on both sides, which extended for an undetermined distance ahead of him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that behind him the tunnel made an abrupt right hand turn.

"Can you see yet?" his father asked.

"Yes. It's a bit shadowy, but I can see sufficiently."

"This way, then."

D'Artagnan led the way deeper into the passage ahead of them. Noticing that Philippe kept his eyes averted, looking at the floor on which he was walking, he said, "There is nothing in here to trip on, so you don't need to worry about your footing. There are many exits to the passages. I saw you looking at the corner behind us. It leads to a secret exit near the main stairs. Just ahead of us is an exit that opens into a corridor which appears on the outside to be a dead-end. A tapestry conceals the secret door."

He paused at the door, unfastened the latch, and opened it just a crack. Philippe could see the multicolored fabric of the tapestry that concealed it. Sliding his hand out, D'Artagnan pulled back the tapestry and checked the corridor for activity. Finding none, he opened the door farther and drew aside the tapestry, allowing Philippe a view of the corridor.

"Should you utilize the passages, always check quietly to see that no one is there before you exit. We want these areas to remain secret, and it might give a servant quite a turn to see you coming out of the wall. The exits have been purposely placed in areas in which there is little activity, except the one behind us that I told you about. You want to avoid that one except in a dire emergency."

He allowed the tapestry to fall back into place, and closed the secret door. They continued on, turning another corner.

"These hidden passages are mostly between the walls at the rear part of the chambers or in some cases, running along the side walls. Never at the front, where we would have to contend with the rooms' normal doorways. Besides, the passages would make the walls appear too thick at the front part of the chambers."

"I wondered about that," Philippe said.

The air was very still and humid inside the passages, and sweat began to bead on his forehead. He reached up to wipe it away.

"It's warm in here," he commented.

"There is no good way to ventilate," D'Artagnan replied. "They are rather warm in the summer and cold in the winter." He paused before a shallow recess, indicating that the door was there. "Here is the entrance to your mother's private chambers."

Philippe saw the longing expression on his father's face as he observed the closed door, and he briefly considered asking if he had ever been inside her private chamber, but decided that it was too personal a question. Instead, he asked, "Is there an entrance in your chamber as well?"

D'Artagnan smiled fondly at the young man's youthful curiosity, understanding the hidden question behind the query. "No, there is not."

Philippe was genuinely puzzled. "But as head bodyguard –"

"The passages allow the royal family to move undetected about the palace. I have been granted knowledge of them and access to them, but in the unlikely event of a breach of security, I will be fighting alongside my Musketeers. Come, the entrance to your chamber is up ahead."

Leaving the queen mother's door, he led the way to another exit farther down the corridor. He pushed it open, and Philippe saw that he was back in his own bedchamber.

"This is fascinating," the young king said as he viewed his room through the open door behind the portrait. "To look at the walls, it is impossible to tell that there is a secret corridor behind them!"

"That is the way it was planned. And that is the tour of the secret passages," he said. "I think it is time we returned to the office and see how Athos is coming with the orders for the captain of the Bastille guards."

He closed the portrait-door, and they made their way back through the passages to the office.

Athos looked up when the bookcase opened, and D'Artagnan and Philippe emerged from behind it. "I have just completed the final draft. It is ready for your approval." He passed the document to D'Artagnan, who read it carefully, then nodded his approval.

"Sounds good." He passed it to Philippe. "All you need to do is sign it, and then I will show you how to use your personal seal."

Philippe carefully read the orders that Athos had written for the care of Louis, and experienced a sensation of inner distress at his role in the confinement of his brother. How strange it was to be solely responsible for the treatment of other people. He could give any order he wished, and knew that it would be obeyed. But he knew that releasing his brother at this time was the one order he must not give. Taking the quill from Athos, he sat down at his desk and signed Louis' name to the bottom of the page. He then passed the document back to D'Artagnan, who folded it and placed it on the desk.

"Your seal is in that drawer on your right," he said. "You will find several sticks of sealing wax there also."

Philippe opened the drawer and saw the items he needed. "This is something we never practiced," he reminded them. Withdrawing the seal and one stick of wax, he placed them on the desk top and waited while D'Artagnan lit a candle and brought it to him.

"Watch while I do this, and then you will practice on the paper that Athos used to write out the list."

Philippe watched attentively while his father melted the tip of the wax stick over the candle flame, and allowed several drops to fall upon the fold of the letter. When it began to harden, he pressed the seal into it, then removed it, revealing the imprint.

"No one will break the seal other than the person to whom it is addressed," D'Artagnan told him.

"That looks simple enough," he said.

"It is very simple, but on the king's documents it must not appear sloppy or ragged. It must look as though you have done it before, so you will practice before you are required to do it in front of your advisors."

Athos folded the list he had written, and placed it on the desk for Philippe to use. "We will destroy this after you have finished."

Philippe held the stick of wax in the flame, watching as it melted in the heat, but he did not get it in the proper place before the first drip of melted wax fell upon the paper, and he understood then why D'Artagnan had insisted he must practice. He looked up, feeling slightly embarrassed, and saw that neither man seemed concerned. Apparently, this was a common mistake the first time.

Holding the wax in the flame again, he positioned it over the paper and this time the wax dropped onto the fold. Setting aside the candle, he picked up the seal and pressed it into the soft wax, leaving the imprint. He smiled, happily. Perfect!

"Keep practicing," Athos said. "It must be perfect every time."

Having been under their instruction before, Philippe knew that he would be required to do this many times before they would be satisfied with his performance, so he continued to melt small blobs of wax over the long fold on the paper until there was no space left. Then, Athos drew a line across the other side of the paper and instructed him to pretend that the line was the fold. Philippe did not mind. Playing with the wax was more interesting than practicing Louis' handwriting. Before long, he was making a perfect seal every time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

After lunch, Philippe returned to the office with Athos and D'Artagnan, and listened attentively while they explained the national policies that Louis had enacted and discussed the war in which Raoul had fought and died. Raoul was not mentioned during this discussion, but he could see the rather haunted look in Athos's eyes as they spoke of the war, and knew that his son was on his mind.

As evening neared, a knock at the door interrupted their conversation, and Philippe called, "Enter!"

The door opened, and Claude stepped inside, bowed deeply, then approached the desk.

"Sire, I have the release order ready for you to sign." He placed it on the desk, and stepped back while Philippe read it carefully.

He nodded, approvingly. "Very good, Claude. Exquisitely worded, as always."

Claude beamed at the rare praise from his monarch, and watched with satisfaction as the king picked up the quill and signed his name to the document. Claude then folded it and handed it back to him, and he understood that on this document he must use the seal that he had been practicing.

With barely a hesitation, he opened the drawer and removed the seal and a stick of wax again while Claude moved the candle closer. He was very much aware that Athos and D'Artagnan were watching as he held the tip of the wax in the flame, then allowed the droppings to fall on the fold. It was perfectly accomplished, and as it began to harden, he pressed the seal into it, leaving a perfect imprint. Laying aside the seal, he passed the order back to Claude.

"When you send that to the Bastille, please send this as well," Philippe said, presenting him with the instructions Athos had written.

Claude took it and looked at it, noticing that it was sealed, preventing curious eyes from inspecting it. He looked up, a trace of offense in his eyes. "I would have been happy to have written this for you, your majesty."

"I'm sure you would have, but it is regarding matters that are military in nature, and Athos and D'Artagnan have a better understanding of such things."

"I see. I wished to inform you also that Gerard and I have spent the afternoon discussing your plans to renovate the poorer sections of Paris, and we have come up with a plan that we feel will work. May I describe it to you, Sire?"

"By all means."

"Well, your majesty, because the poverty is so widespread, it would take many months, perhaps years, for the local carpenters to complete the work moving from one area to the next, even if we used every available carpenter in the city, and there are insufficient funds in the coffers to hire skilled workers over such an extended period of time. So we thought perhaps the residents themselves would be willing to do the work in their own communities. There are plenty of able-bodied men who should be happy to accept the renovating project, and plenty of women to do the cleaning. We would supply them with the materials and pay them a modest wage."

"A modest wage?" Philippe asked, suspiciously. "It is important to keep the cost down as much as possible, yet we must not defeat our purpose. Our goal is to help ease the poverty and provide them with adequate funds to buy food for their families."

"Believe me, Sire, they will be grateful for any money they receive. Since the government will not be paying for the executioner or the artist to paint your portrait, it extends the available funds somewhat, and we believe this is the best way to achieve the beautification process rapidly with the least cost. We will strive to provide them with a fair wage, I assure you."

Discreetly, Philippe glanced over Claude's shoulder to gauge the reaction of Athos and D'Artagnan. After a moment, D'Artagnan nodded his approval.

Philippe shifted his attention back to the advisor. "That is an excellent idea, Claude, but alas I am compelled to remind you of the broad expanse of poverty around the city. I fear it will do little to alleviate the problem. Once the work is completed, the poverty will return."

"This is true, Sire," Claude agreed. "It is only a temporary solution, but it buys us some time to think of other ideas that might help to alleviate the problem on a more long-term basis."

"Yes, indeed it does. Draft the order and send out inquiries to the residents to see if they are agreeable to such a project." He pointed to the documents that were still clutched in Claude's hand. "And get those documents sent immediately. I want that farmer home with his family by nightfall."

"Right away, your majesty." Claude bowed again, and made his exit to carry out his orders.

When the door was closed, Philippe leaned back in the chair and observed his father. "Do you think their plan will work?"

"I see no reason why it shouldn't," he said. "It will still be an expensive project, so we will have to be careful about frivolous spending on other matters. Which means no more balls for a while," he added with a teasing smile.

Philippe answered his father's smile with one of his own. "That does not bother me in the slightest. I would like the time to get accustomed to the palace and procedures before we hold another ball. This idea of paying the residents to do the work; it is such a simple plan, why is it that no one has thought of it before?"

"Sometimes the best plans are the simplest," Athos agreed, "And sometimes the simplest plans are the most elusive. Your advisors are correct: It does buy some time to find other, more lasting ideas."

"I have been thinking about this other advisor, the one who was executed."

"Pierre."

"Yes. I would like to see that his widow is compensated for losing her husband. It may be difficult for her to raise her children alone."

"Yes, you mentioned that back at the village, and as I told you then she may not accept your help. It was Louis who ordered her husband's death and you are now Louis, so she is not likely to respond favorably to your attempts to offer assistance."

"Still, we must try. Perhaps Claude would speak to her."

"You are moving too fast, Philippe," Athos warned. "If you are insistent on helping her, it would be easier and better for now if you allowed me to anonymously slip some money under her door. And then later, after some time has passed and your reputation with the public becomes more agreeable, you can offer to assist with her needs. Right now, it is too much too soon."

"Everything is so complicated," Philippe lamented, exasperated with his inability to openly and immediately alter the plight of the people. "I want so badly to help, but I cannot help because it is not what Louis would have done."

"In time, Philippe," D'Artagnan told him. "I know you want to move forward quickly, but we explained to you why you cannot."

"I know. And I understand. It is just frustrating." Calming himself, he turned to the ex-Musketeer. "Athos, I appreciate your offer to anonymously give money to Pierre's widow on my behalf. Would you be willing to take it to her tonight?"

"I will find a pouch or a purse that we can place it in," Athos responded without hesitation.

"Where do I get the money from?" Philippe asked.

"Even though he does not really need it, Louis keeps some personal funds inside the wardrobe in your bedchamber," D'Artagnan answered. "There should be more than enough there to see her through several months."

Philippe rose from his chair. "I will get it immediately. I will sleep better knowing that she has money for expenses." Without waiting for a response, he strode purposefully to the door and went through it.

Athos and D'Artagnan looked at one another, and both men chuckled with amusement at the young man's youthful enthusiasm.

"He is a good boy, D'Artagnan," Athos said, admiringly. "He wants so much to do the right thing for the people that it will be difficult to rein him in!"

"That was good of you to make the offer the deliver the money to Pierre's widow."

"It seemed to be the only way we could keep him from doing it himself!"

"Yes, he will be a handful," D'Artagnan agreed. "I only wish . . . " He shook his head sadly. "Having him and his mother both here in the palace together is both a joy and a torture for me. They will take their meals together and walk together in the garden or talk in the parlors, and I must watch from a distance, unable to join them. The obedient servant." He shrugged, as if to shake off the feeling of melancholy. "Pay me no heed, Athos. I am happy that he is here, and that is enough."

Athos's eyes were sympathetic, but there was nothing he could say or do to ease his best friend's torment at being unable to openly join his family.