Chapter Thirty Eight
After allowing two days for Louis to adjust to his new environment, his anxious mother could wait no longer. "I must see my son," she said to her husband as they lay in bed together one morning prior to rising. She was curled on her side facing him, her arm folded under her pillow. "I have not seen him in more than five weeks, and I miss him."
D'Artagnan hesitated briefly before responding, his eyes studying the pattern on the ceiling as he considered her request. He knew that she was eager to see the son who had departed the palace one morning for a hunt and had never returned, but he did not want to see her hurt if Louis refused to see her. "He may be bitter and angry," he warned. "He has been stripped of everything that means the most to him: Power, status, women, his freedom. He thrives on them, and now that he no longer has any of them, he may lash out, and you will make an easy target for his wrath."
Anne had already considered that possibility, and even though it would hurt, her need to see him, to see that he was safe and well, was foremost in her mind. "I am prepared for that," she said. "But I can go no longer without seeing him. He and I have never been very close, but I want to let him know that no matter what has happened, he is my son and I do love him. He needs to know that."
"I know," D'Artagnan agreed. He turned over on his side and propped himself up on his elbow, facing her. "Anne, he may question you about those of us who were involved in seizing his throne. He knows that Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and I were responsible for it, but I want you to promise me that you will never reveal to him that you were aware that it was going to happen. He will think himself betrayed, and since you will be his only visitor, you must allow him to think that you only found out after the fact."
"I had hoped he would not ask, but I suppose you are right." Reaching out with one hand, she stroked back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead, allowing her fingertips to linger against his cheek. "You have borne so much where Louis is involved, watching him grow up from a distance. It does not seem fair to you to shoulder the burden of blame, when I knew weeks before he was arrested that he would be replaced by Philippe."
"Letting him know that you were aware of it would serve no purpose except to cause bitter feelings toward you, that you did not warn him of it. He may never forgive you for that. Even though you knew that replacing him was the right thing to do, for his safety as well as the welfare of the country, you could not have stopped it from happening."
She sighed. "I know you are right. It is just so unfair to you."
He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Unfortunately, it is how it must be. I will content myself with knowing that he is safe and well. I will send a message to Herve, advising him of your visit," he promised.
As soon as he rose, he penned a message to Louis' guard, advising him of the impending visit by the queen mother, reminding him that no one else besides him and his wife Marie should know the identity of the prisoner's visitor. It was common for servants to remain out of sight when important visitors were in the manor house, but to anyone who might chance a glimpse of her, she was simply a noble woman there to visit the mysterious resident on the second floor. The letter was sent ahead with a courier to allow them time to prepare.
After breakfast, D'Artagnan ordered a coach brought to the front entrance to the palace, and he, Lieutenant Andre, and Athos escorted Anne to the renovated mansion where Louis was being confined.
Herve had been watching from the window, eager to see the queen mother, and he stepped outside and opened the coach door for her. D'Artagnan dismounted and offered his hand to assist her to the ground, but because they were in public, he walked appropriately behind her as they entered the house. Athos and Andre remained outside with the horses.
Marie curtseyed to her as Herve closed the door behind them. "Welcome, my lady. I have advised him that you would be visiting today. If there is anything I can do to make your visit more comfortable, let me know and we will do our best to accommodate you."
Anne acknowledged the greeting by dipping her head in a nod, but what she really wanted to do was thank the woman profusely for taking care of her son. "The house looks wonderful," she said. "You and your friends have done a good job preparing it for him."
"Thank you, my lady. My husband, Herve, will escort you up to his chamber."
She turned toward the man who had followed her inside, and he bowed respectfully, then gestured with his hand toward the stairs. Anne felt a mild tremor in her spine, realizing that this was the man D'Artagnan had told her about; the man whose tongue had been cut out by Louis' order. Maintaining a carefully neutral expression, she gathered her skirts in her hand and ascended the steps to the second floor. At the top, she paused to look over the railing at her husband, who had remained in the entry hall. He gave an encouraging wink, and she started down the corridor.
After they had disappeared from his view, D'Artagnan turned to Marie and asked, "You have been told that she will be making weekly visits?"
"Yes. I was told the same day each week."
"She may wish to come more often, so if there is any deviation from the schedule, I will send a courier to let you know. Are the servants asking questions about his identity?"
"No. Father Aramis gathered everyone together and explained that he is a political prisoner who is being confined by order of the king, and that his identity is being concealed for his own protection. He explicitly forbade anyone from making any attempts to see him. They are quite curious, I am certain of that, but no one is willing to disobey Aramis or the king."
"Good. Excellent. Is he behaving well?"
"Perfectly. He has a bit of a sharp tongue, but I suppose that is to be expected. Other than that, he has so far been a model prisoner. I should mention that he seemed a bit ill the first morning after he arrived. I told him to call us if he needed help or anything, but he never did. He seemed better this morning."
Feeling relieved, D'Artagnan walked to the foot of the steps and looked up toward the corridor which led to his son's room. He could no longer see Herve or Anne, but he heard the muffled sound of the latch being pulled back on the door.
After unlocking the door, Herve opened it just enough to look through it at the mirror, seeking the position of the deposed king. Finding the sitting room empty, he opened the door fully and stepped back to allow her room to enter.
She glanced at him as she stepped into the room, and he immediately averted his eyes and bowed his head with respect. Apparently his hatred of Louis did not extend to the deposed monarch's mother.
As soon as she was inside, she heard the door close and lock behind her, and she turned to face it with an unsettling feeling of apprehension. Of course she had known that it would be locked behind her to prevent Louis' escape, yet it was a strange sensation to be locked inside a room with no way out except to wait until it was unlocked again from the outside. She could only imagine what it must feel like to a prisoner, never allowed outside a controlled environment, always at the mercy of others.
Turning to face the interior again, she observed the empty sitting room, pleased to see that it was large, attractive and comfortable. Louis was not there, and she wondered if he had retired to his bedchamber for a nap. If so, she was reluctant to wake him, so she called softly, "Louis?"
He emerged from the dining hall holding a half eaten pear in his hand, and he stopped when he saw his mother standing near the door. She was carrying a small basket, which he presumed must contain some kind of snack or treat for him, and he experienced a childlike eagerness, wondering what it could be. At the palace, whenever he wanted something, he merely sent a servant to bring it to him. Now, he must rely on his mother to bring it to him.
Anne's first instinct was to rush to him and embrace him in the joy of seeing him again, but she resisted the impulse. Louis had never been one to exhibit open displays of affection toward anyone, including his mother, so she smiled her greeting. "It is good to see you again, my son."
She would have been surprised to know that he experienced a similar impulse to rush to her, yet he held back, thinking it undignified to run to his mother like a child. "Mother," he said, quietly. "Marie told me you would be coming today." He seemed hesitant and embarrassed at being seen in his confinement, and for the first time at a loss for words. Gesturing toward the door behind him, he said, "I have some fruit in the dining hall, if you would like something."
"No, thank you. Just seeing you looking so well is enough. When they told me that you were in . . . " Her voice trailed, unable to speak the dreaded word. " . . . in that terrible place, I feared what it would do to you."
He averted his eyes briefly of the reminder of where he had been incarcerated, and she saw the mild expression of pain that crossed his face.
"Oh, Louis, I am so sorry!" Disregarding his typical formality, she closed the distance that separated them, and embraced him, feeling mildly surprised when she felt his arms wrap around her, holding her close against him. "I have missed you terribly, my son."
"I have missed you too, Mother," he admitted.
When she drew back, she observed his face, noticing with distress that his face was somewhat gaunt. "You are so thin!" she exclaimed, caressing his cheeks with her hands.
"It is difficult to remain healthy on prison slop," he replied, his voice tense. "Swine in the barnyard are better fed than I was!" Calming himself, he gestured toward the more comfortable chair. "Please sit down, Mother, and we will have a visit. We never talked much when I was still at the palace."
She sank into the chair and placed the basket on the table between them. "I brought some of your favorite pastries."
Trying not to look as eager as he felt, he set aside the pear and reached for the basket and removed the cloth that covered them. Inside it were his favorite pastries. "Thank you, Mother."
"I will bring you something special every time I come," she promised. Her gaze grew misty with concern for his wellbeing. "Are you well, Louis? Is there anything you need, anything I can get for you?"
He was silent for a long moment, indicating that he felt she should know the answer to the question without asking, but he curbed his temper. "Since you cannot produce the means of securing my freedom, then I can think of nothing that I need. I am well fed and well clothed and kept reasonably comfortable. The only thing I am lacking is the ability to walk through that door."
"I am so sorry that this has happened to you, Louis. You are my son, and it grieves me to see you unhappy."
He looked at her for a long moment, pondering a question that had been on his mind since his arrest. "Mother, I must know something. Aramis told me that you were not involved in the things that have happened to me, but I want to know one thing. When you realized what was happening, why didn't you help me?"
His question stung, and she was unprepared for it even though she knew he might ask. "I hated to think of you in that place, but I am not in a position of power. There was nothing I could do."
"You could have told someone of this plot to overthrow me! You could have informed Claude or Gerard. They would have known what to do. Instead, you did nothing! You allowed this to happen to me! Is this in retribution for what I did to Philippe?"
"No, Louis! You must never think that! I love you both! I would never do anything to bring harm to either of you, but I was unable to help you any more than I could help Philippe all those years."
Reminded once again of his poor treatment of his brother, he looked away with a sigh. "Did you have prior knowledge of this conspiracy against me?"
Looking at him now, knowing that she had been aware of his removal from the palace all along and had even agreed that it was necessary, it was a difficult query to answer without exacerbating the current situation. Drawing a deep breath, she looked at him steadily and provided a slightly ambiguous response that neither confirmed nor denied her prior knowledge of the plan to exchange the twins. "I knew nothing of your arrest until later in the day when I was informed by Captain D'Artagnan. He ---"
"The traitor!" Louis spat angrily at the mention of the Musketeer's name. "All these years, he has pretended to be my faithful and loyal servant, and then he betrayed me by joining forces with the Jesuits in their conspiracy to steal my throne from me! I would shoot him on sight if I had the chance!"
Anne winced at the harsh words directed toward her husband, and averted her eyes in an attempt to hide her distress.
Louis instantly detected her discomfort, and his eyes narrowed. "You agree with them, don't you? You believe it was for the good of France that I was stripped of my throne and my authority! You are glad that my brother has seized power!"
Anne felt her pulse accelerate at his accusation, but she took a moment to calm herself while Louis continued to glare at her. This response, at least, was totally honest. "It was never my desire to see you stripped of power, Louis, nor was it my desire to see you humiliated and placed in the mask any more than it was my desire to see my other son humiliated and placed in the mask. I cannot be sorry that Philippe has been freed -– he should never have been in prison -- but I never wanted you to be incarcerated either. This has been a difficult situation for all of us, beginning with the day my late husband stole my younger child from me and facilitated a lie which was never brought into the open until his death bed. He is the instigator of all the misery that has plagued us ever since."
"He did what he thought was best to protect the birthright of his older son," Louis insisted in defense of the man he believed was his father. "The rightful heir!"
"That does not excuse what he did. You do not know the kind of pain that comes from losing a child! He witnessed my grief every day, and yet he never told me until he was on his deathbed that my son was alive! I should have been given the opportunity to know both of you. He was wrong to take my son from me, Louis, just as you were wrong to place your brother in an iron mask and send him away to live in that prison."
"So, you think I deserve to be treated this way?"
"The penalty you have received has caused me distress each and every day since I first learned what had been done to you, but the plot to overthrow you was much bigger than the men who carried it out. There were many who wanted to see you executed or assassinated. Others believe that confinement was an appropriate punishment for the things you have done."
"Punishment!" Louis echoed, angrily. "I am above the law! My throne has been given to me by God! I answer only to Him!"
"That is blasphemy," Anne answered promptly. "No one is above the law, Louis. Not even you. Your throne was passed down to you from the previous king, just as it came to him from the one before. Because you are my son, I think the punishment was harsh, but --"
"But you are thinking that I have done to others much worse things that have been done to me, are you not?" he challenged.
"You have been a cruel king," she admitted. "One look at the man standing outside this door will reveal that much, but there are so many others, some who were executed for things that were not their doing."
A sudden chill shuddered through his body, haunted by the memory of the dream he had had the previous day, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Like Pierre?"
His tone of voice had changed abruptly from angry to surprisingly hushed. "Yes. He was not to blame for the spoiled food that you ordered to be distributed to the people, and if you would stop and think about it, I am certain you would see that."
Louis was very subdued, and for a moment he considered revealing the disturbing nightmare to his mother, but then changed his mind, deciding that it served no purpose to reveal that his late advisor was haunting his dreams. "I regret that decision," he confessed, quietly. "I was getting tired of hearing about the civilian riots and Pierre and Claude constantly telling me that I needed to find a way to feed the people. There were other things, more pleasurable things, that I wanted to be doing, so I reacted impulsively."
"Louis, you sentenced him the harshest punishment there is for something that was not his fault. Impulsive behavior is the way of children, not kings! A king must act responsibly by carefully weighing each matter before making decisions, and he must never condemn a man to death simply because there are things he would rather be doing."
Louis fell silent and lowered his eyes to the hardwood floor, thinking about what she had just said. Ordinarily, he would be angered by her reproachful words, but instead he felt severely chastised. In this one matter, at least, he had clearly failed, and her comparison to childish impulsiveness had struck a cord. He had reacted without thinking, and a man was dead because of it; a man who had served him well for years.
Realizing that he was giving her words some consideration, she continued, "Louis, I think the blame for your cruelty lies mostly with the way you were brought up, not with who you are. I believe you have the ability to be a good person, but you were taught to be harsh and pitiless, and I am partly to blame for that. I should have taken more control over the way you were being raised, and it shames me to admit that I was neglectful of that, but you became the man that the former king taught you to be. He gave you everything you wanted so that he could avoid the responsibility of simply being with you, or teaching you the things you needed to know to effectively rule the country."
"It is interesting that you would say that," Louis said, thoughtfully. "When they arrested me, they told me things that are very similar to what you have just said about how I was brought up to be the way I am. I believe D'Artagnan called me a 'spoiled, pampered peacock', but he also said something about me being as much a victim as the citizens I have wronged." Slowly, he rose from his chair and wandered to the mantle. Leaning his arm on it, he gazed reflectively into the empty hearth. "It made me angry that they would speak so boldly against my father, but now I hear you saying the same thing. Either you are in league with them, or there is some truth to what you say."
"It is true, Louis," she insisted as she stood up and went to his side. Placing her hand on his arm, she said gently, "You were a victim of your upbringing."
"And now I pay the price for it," he said, bitterly.
"I wish it could be different, but there is nothing I can do to change what has been done. We all must live with the consequences."
"None more than I," he said. He turned around to face her. "You have lived in your own private prison all these years, haven't you? Always sequestered away in your chamber, punishing yourself for your own failures. The only difference is, you had the ability to walk out of it any time you chose. It must have been strange for you to leave the palace to come here to visit me."
"I came because I love you, Louis. We have made many mistakes, you and I and the former king."
Louis cocked his head, slightly. "I have noticed that you do not like to refer to him as your husband or my father."
She was momentarily startled by his words, but covered it well. "He was not a good husband to me or a good father to you. I know you loved him as a child loves his father, but for him being a father only meant honoring his obligation to produce an heir. Beyond that, he wanted little to do with either of us."
"I know," Louis agreed. "He never spent time with me. He just gave me an occasional pat on the head when I was little, and virtually ignored me afterward. Instead, he gave me things. Things which I came to expect." He shook his head, abruptly. "I grow tired of such depressing talk. Would you care to see my prison?"
"I wish you would not think of it as a prison. I know it is not the freedom you crave, but is it not better than the stone walls and iron bars of the Bastille?"
He sighed, heavily. "Forgive me, Mother. Of course it is better, and I know that were it not for you and Philippe, the Bastille is where I would be." The dark, dank image of life inside the prison flashed into his mind, and he felt a sudden urge for sunlight and fresh air. Reaching out, he took his mother by the hand. "Come, I will take you my courtyard and we will have a nice walk together."
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Had it not been for Lieutenant Andre's presence, D'Artagnan would have, for the first time in his life, abandoned protocol so that he might ride inside the coach with his wife where he could hold her and comfort her, but because the young lieutenant knew nothing of his marriage to the queen mother, he was forced to content himself with riding beside her window, casting frequent concerned glances at the rigidly stoic expression on her face, knowing that hidden inside, her heart was breaking. She carried a lacy white handkerchief with her, which she used to occasionally dab at her eyes, increasing his concern that the visit had not gone well.
It was not until they had returned to her chamber that Anne could relate to him the events that happened inside Louis' chambers. She spared nothing, telling him about their son's weight loss, his apparent despondency at being confined, his brief outburst of anger, and his accusations, and after she had revealed everything, she wept softly against his chest as he consoled her.
Gently wiping her face with his fingertips, he said softly, "We knew the first time would be the most difficult. This is why Aramis wanted you to wait before seeing him, to give him a chance to recover from the effects of the Bastille and accept his confinement. This is a dramatic adjustment for Louis, one that will require time for him to accept. But I do believe that, in time, he will accept them."
"It was just so hard seeing him like that," she said, sadly. "I know Aramis had told us that Louis appeared rather haggard, but I never expected him to be so gaunt!"
"He will put the weight back on now that he is receiving the food to which he is accustomed. And I know you took him a basketful of pastries," he added with a patient smile.
"There were changes in him that were more than physical. Always at the palace, he was so energetic and confident, bursting with enthusiasm and authority. He is but a shell of the man he once was. He was angry, yet at the same time he was almost docile. I have never seen like this before."
"Shh," he said, softly, stroking her hair with his hand. "I am sorry you had to see him like that, but I assure you, it will get better as he adjusts. And it is certainly preferable to the alternative."
"Yes, that is true," she agreed. "But it is all so unfair! First Philippe was made to suffer for mistakes of the past that were not even his, and now Louis suffers!" She pulled away and dried her eyes with her handkerchief again. "I know my tears are pointless, and that there is nothing I can do. I am just a mother who is concerned about her children."
"And I am a father who is equally concerned. Anne, you know that if there was any other way –"
She pressed her fingertips to his lips. "I understand, D'Artagnan. There is nothing to be done about it. We have two sons, and we am destined to never see them in the same room together because my first husband robbed me of the precious times we should have known as a family. And yet, if Philippe had been raised here at the palace, he would never have known that you are his father, and you and he would never have been as close as you have become these past few months. I suppose I want it all, but I know it can never be. Life is never perfect. We must make of it what we can, and accept what can not be."
"You are a wise woman."
She laid her head against his chest again, content to listen to his steady heartbeat. "If there is one good thing to come of this, Louis said he would like to get closer to me than we have been at the palace. Always, there were other people he would rather be with than me, but now that I will be his only visitor, I suppose he feels we should know each other better. And we did have a nice visit after he had settled down. He took me for a walk in the courtyard. He and I have never taken a walk together."
"That is good," he agreed. "He has neglected you far too long."
"He also suggested that I should have lunch with him on my next visit. He has a very nice dining hall, and says that his cook is very good. I cannot remember the last time I have dined with my son!"
They were interrupted by a knock on D'Artagnan's door, and both turned toward the open doors which led through the secret passage. Both had been left open so that he could hear if someone needed to see him.
"I must go, but I'll return as soon as I am able and we will talk some more."
Leaving her with reluctance, he moved through the passage and entered his own room. After closing the bookcase door securely, he opened the door that lead into the main corridor, and found a young guard standing there.
"Pardon the interruption, Captain, but a courier has just arrived with a letter for you."
D'Artagnan took the letter and closed the door again as his eyes fell upon the blob of red wax that sealed the document's edges, taking notice of the imprint. He immediately felt his heart leap in anticipation of the news contained inside the document. Quickly, he broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and read it twice before folding it again. Moving quickly, he reentered Anne's chamber.
"Anne, something has come up that I must discuss with Philippe. Will you be all right for a short while?"
"I am all right, D'Artagnan," she assured him. "There is no need to sit with me."
"I will return as soon as I can," he promised. "We will talk more later."
Leaving her alone in her chamber, he walked down the corridor to the king's private chamber and with a nod to the guard, he knocked on the door and waited for his son to answer. As expected, he was immediately admitted.
As he entered the large room, he found the young king standing in the middle of the floor with his arms stretched out to the side as the assistant to the king's tailor held a cloth tape against him, recording his measurements on a piece of parchment. Philippe, who knew next to nothing about current fashions, was content to allow Athos to argue with the tailor about fabric, color and design. Swatches of cloth were spread out across the bed, and Athos indicated the ones most suited to the king's needs, while the tailor argued the ones he favored.
D'Artagnan smiled in amusement as he waited patiently, knowing that Athos would eventually win out because Philippe would defer to him on his selections.
"That one will best suit my needs," Philippe said, indicating the one Athos had suggested.
The tailor instantly bent slightly at the waist in a quick bow. There would be no argument, since the king's word was law. "An excellent choice, your majesty."
When the measurements were completed and the tailor had gathered up all his swatches, both men departed, leaving the young king with Athos and D'Artagnan.
"I have never been measured like that before. I had no idea a tailor's job was so intricate. Yvette made my clothes before, and she just seemed to know how big to make them. And in the prison, I wore old clothes that had been discarded, probably from prisoners who had died."
Athos appeared pleased with the fabric selections. "Your first new set of clothes since becoming king. There will be no more cast-offs, not even from Louis." He turned to D'Artagnan. "You have waited patiently, but now you expression indicates that you are here on a matter of some importance."
D'Artagnan held up the folded sheet of paper. "A letter was just delivered by courier," he said. "It was delivered to me, but Philippe, I think you should read it, and then Athos must see it."
Philippe took the letter and looked at the seal, then his eyes met D'Artagnan's eyes in a somber glance. "The one we've been waiting for?" he asked.
Athos quietly observed the look that passed between the other two men and Philippe's slight hesitation before unfolding the document. Clearly the two men had been expecting some form of communication with the writer of the letter, of which he had not been made aware until this moment. He made no comment, however, but watched curiously as Philippe opened up the letter and read it.
Philippe gave a slight smile of satisfaction as he nodded approvingly. "Excellent. It is what we had hoped." He extended the letter toward Athos, who hesitated before taking it. It was not his mail, after all. In response to the puzzled expression that crossed Athos's face, he said, "It is from Raoul's commanding general."
More puzzled than ever, Athos finally took the letter and began to read. The muscles in his face slowly relaxed, and his surprised eyes darted up to Philippe's face as if for confirmation. In his heart, he felt a conflicting mixture of satisfying resolution and overwhelming sorrow.
"It is the exact location of Raoul's grave," Philippe confirmed. "One of the first things that Father and I did when I came to the palace was to send a courier to the front lines requesting that the general place a permanent marker on the grave, so that you can find it. It seems that the general had selected a place for Raoul and the other officers, apart from the rest of the men killed in the battle, and it was a place that he was able to locate again with ease"
Athos was silent for a long moment, hardly daring to believe that he had heard and read correctly. "You never said a word. Either of you."
"We agreed not to mention it because we did not want you to be disappointed if the general was unable to locate it."
"When I saw the seal, I was worried that it would be bad news," D'Artagnan admitted. "It has been months since the battle, and nature reclaims everything quickly."
Philippe added, "I hope it brings you peace, my friend."
Athos reread the letter, and felt his eyes begin to well.
D'Artagnan stepped forward and placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. "At the river that day when we settled our differences, I made a promise to you that I would attempt to locate Raoul's grave so that you would be able to visit it when this cursed war is over. With Philippe's help as king, I was able to fulfill that promise."
"You have no idea what this means to me," Athos said, his voice choked with emotion. "I am overcome. Thank you. Thank you both." His eyes glistened with unshed tears as his gaze locked briefly with D'Artagnan's eyes, then Philippe's before lowering them to the letter that was still clutched in his hands. After a moment, he left the room, the letter still clutched in his hand.
After they heard the door close, Philippe said, worriedly, "He seems so sad again. Will he be all right?"
"He will be fine," D'Artagnan replied. "He just needs some time alone. By tomorrow, he will have recovered and will be back at court." He knew that the disclosure of Raoul's grave had brought the older man much joy, but it had also been a painful reminder of what he had lost. But at least now there was a marked grave that he could visit, and that was an important part of accepting his loss and moving forward.
A/N: The next chapter will be the last.