Chapter
XI: Journey on: Making ones way across the Loire valley is not a
matter to be undertaken lightly…but there are worse ways to spend
your days.
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Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney,
Hallmark and United Artists too
Give credit where credit is due,
I'd be writing something subtly different…
If not for all of you.
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Chapter XI: Journey on
Lew rode Butterfly with joyful exuberance. He would pause and let the others go ahead then dig in his heals and gallop past. Then, before they drew along side, he would dart ahead again. The musketeers were content to take a slower pace drinking in the landscape: golden sand hillsides, blue water, crystalline rocks of the old massif, broom and silver birches line pastureland and the rambling forests.
They arrived at Anjou with out much difficulty. The town was a grey tangle sprawling like roots of tree forcing its way through the bones of the earth. The people called the place la ville noire, the black city, because the active slate quarries employed most of the population.
Horse's hooves stirred up clouds of stone dust from the quarries. The travelers quickly found the abrasive powder worked its way into everything, making skin raw and throats dry. The irritant was so preservative many natives of Anjou seemed to share that same dower hue as the native stone buildings, bridges, and streets of their world.
By the time the adventurers reached the town proper, all were eager for a cool drink and perhaps a light meal at the local inn. In one corner of the common room locals were engrossed in a card game they called brusquembille. Ramon recognized it as one he played as a child excepting in Spain it was called bezique… still it seemed the rules were the same.
The object is to promote in the hand various combinations of cards, which, when declared, entitle the holder to certain scores; the order of cards are Ace, Ten, King, Dame, Valet, Nine, Eight, Sevenand the suits are Cups, Coins, Swords and Clubs. Aces and tens are known as brisques and the Ace is higher than the 10. To win the so called 'last trick' the dealer deals eight cards to each player, first three, then two, and again three. The top card of those remaining is turned up for trump.
Though brusquembille is normally played between two people, it can be played with as many as five. Etienne and Ramon eagerly joined in. Ramon hoped his other friends would stay and watch, perhaps even learn the basics if the game. It would be nice to play in the garrison from time to time or even pass the time when camping out on patrol. But it was not to be; the others of his party found the game difficult to follow and drifted off to a nearby table.
"I want to play Brelain." Lew whined, "Can't you make them play what I want to play?" Siroc was quietly trying to explain that even if you can make someone do what you want it does not mean you ought to… in fact there are often very good reasons why you should refrain from doing so. Suddenly, one of the card-players accused Ramon of helping Etienne cheat.
The proud Spaniard looked stung. "Do not question my honor Sir…I am a musketeer." Ramon declared with enthusiasm and unwittingly unleashed a firestorm.
The first sound of heavy chairs sliding backward across the wooden floor send Anton scuttling under the nearest table…dragging Lew along with him. The natives were on their feet in an instant, each one suddenly intent on causing trouble for the outsiders.
The beefy stoneworker, who had taken umbrage at Etienne's insatiable, luck swung first at Ramon thinking him the mastermind behind the con. The lithe Spaniard dodged. People rose to their feet, cards and coins scattered in all directions, tankards overturned and plates slid their sundry contents mingling with the sawdust and rushes strewn about the flagstone floor. "Royal dog are you?" the man growled. The others were quick to come to their companion's defense and a brawl of near epic proportions followed.
Amid the clatter and chaos, it became clear the card game had nothing to do with what was happening. Voices rose in anger and tempers flared. The man that lobbed a pitcher at D'artagnan's head cursed Mazarin as he did so. A barmaid joined in fighting with feet and nails insisting the Queen a thief and a crook and those that serve her are no better. Louis himself they declared was a selfish brat, a pig and worse. Hatred for those in power ran so deep that people irrespective of class, spoke openly of sedition even ousting the monarchy altogether. All seemed keen to exact retribution on the four servants of the crown within their reach.
Anton clasped young Lew to his chest as they huddled together behind a redoubt of table and chair legs. Shattered crockery rained around their ears as the chaperones sought opportunity to rescue them from the fray. The young king bristled and wriggled trying to extricate himself from the larger boys grasp. How could he remain silent when these people blamed him personally for everything from increased taxation to natural disasters, famine and plague?
Luckily, no one drew steel or things would have become inextricably worse. Finally, enough of the assailants were unable to continue the battle and the adventurers could make a break for the door. Jacques thought to toss her purse to the innkeeper but Anton stayed her hand. He pointed out that Etienne's winnings scattered about in the detritus was more than enough to cover the damage. Something in his care worn expression hinted that this was not the first time his companion's uncommon skills had caused such difficulties neither would it be the last.
Lewis's ire had been roused by the fracas and the others forcibly led him from the public house. "I do not like these people." The boy seethed, royal brow creased indignantly. "They will never be MY people! They are rebellious… unkind… and entirely too English." He pouted. "I can see why papa let his scheming brother Gaston be Duke of this place...They deserve each other!"
"Calm Lew, please…" Siroc cautioned him to hold his tongue, but the young king chose not to hear him. Everyone was all too eager to point his or her mount's tail to the unruly town, commencing the journey forthwith and with great haste.
"They're just alike…those people and uncle Gaston." Louis continued his rant. "Say one thing to your face, another to your back! Do you see what comes of it when dishonest persons confuse their own pockets with those of the crown? Nothing but trouble!" He scowled, "I should come back…and bring my army. I'll lay siege for a few months…see what that does to their purses… then I'll have dearest Uncle exiled and put someone I can trust over them!" He pouted. "After all the times XIII forgave his scheming too; I won't be as forgiving, just you wait!"
It was clearly time to move on. The horses were readied and they quickly put the black city behind them. The main road lay off to the right somewhere. The trail Anton chose was rough but he thought it wise to avoid further contact with the locals for the time being. Not even D'artagnan thought to second-guess the youth's decision.
"What was that about anyway?" Andie asked as they picked their way through the dense wood. She had been looking after the horses and had not witnessed what initiated the conflict.
Ramon believed she was referring to their young charge's royal rant and tried salvage the tattered vestige of Lew's anonymity. "You must forgive Siroc's nephew. He is a very unusual child." The Spaniard announced "I fear he suffers from delusions of grandeur…His father was a musketeer." Ramon tried to bluff the young guides. "He reads all the political books he can get his hands on then acts them out with his toys."
"Yeah right." Andie smirked incredulously and Etienne and Anton turned indulgent smiles on the Spaniard.
The subject had not come up before, but led D'artagnan to wonder just how much the perceptive cousins had deduced about the nature of their journey "What do you think of Lew?" D'artagnan asked Etienne and Anton cautiously once they were well away from the city.
"WE know who he is. The question Dart, is do you?" Etienne smiled; there was a mischievous glint in his eyes.
That was indubitably just type of glint that made D'artagnan nervous – Siroc alone took note of the Gascon's braced posture and the wary glances he cast at the young cousins…who chatted genially among themselves as they rode.
o-o-o-o
The gently rolling hills of Touraine were a balm to frayed nerves. From a distance, they saw several beautiful Châteaux…but avoided them in favor of staying in one of the small villages. Farmers, in stone houses with gray roofs and thorny hedges, lorded over rich flatlands, cows and sheep. Wheat, barley, corn, and grapes grew in abundance. This truly was as Ramón put it "the garden of France."
Etienne, still somewhat abashed at getting the rest into trouble in Anjou, promised to make it up to them by securing lodging for the night. After scouting the area he led them to a picturesque cottage and explained the farmer and his wife would gladly let them spend the night they stayed in the barn. This prospect Lew found truly novel.
The farmer's wife, a plump woman with a jolly disposition, offered them a hearty dinner of Brochet au beurre blanc. The fish was mostly flavorless but the sauce was rich, buttery, with a slight tang. There was also fresh bread and what Ramón declared was the tastiest goat's cheese he'd ever eaten.
After sunset, Jacqueline and D'artagnan slipped off within minutes of one another and found their way to the decorative kitchen gardens, where sheltered grape arbors and hedges of greenery, secluded benches arranged to facilitate private conversation. They talked a long while and returned to the barn smelling mildly of mint, sage and chamomile.
Some time later, in the dark of the night Jacques woke. Lew was crying softly. She saw he was still asleep but silver trails traced their way down his cheeks; he whimpered softly and nuzzled into Butterfly's flank – which he had been using as a pillow.
Though she dressed as a man…her maternal instinct was fully intact and she could not simply turn over and go back to sleep, neither could she cuddle the boy, as she longed to…without compromising her disguise.
Then she remembered her decidedly odd conversation with Andie while the others were at the play. Didn't she claim to be able to do something about bad dreams? Jacques nudged her gently awake "Can you help him?" she whispered.
Andie bit her lip thoughtfully as she watched the boy toss in his sleep then nodded. The girl gently brushed the bangs from Louis's forehead then cupped his cheek in her palm. The tip of each ring finger touched the hollow below his ears. She opened her mind to him, and was swallowed by his dream.
The young king sat before a mirror in a gilded frame. He adjusted his wig and powdered his cheeks to an unnatural pallor. Eyebrows were darkened for effect. The lace collar and cuffs had to lie just so. He looked to his reflection for approval. "Is the mask who we are?" his reflection asked in a voice identical to his own, "What are we apart from it?"
Louis leaned in to the mirror. Suddenly the face looking back at him took on a nightmare aspect; a mask of metal and leather locked tight about his throat. The horrid construct hid his visage from the sun's caress… never to feel the breath of the wind on his cheeks he was a prisoner.
Never before had the specter of his dreams been so clear. The gleaming palace faded away and Louis found himself in sparse chamber with barred windows. A robed figure clenched meaty fists and prepared to use them with great effect.
The young king was nearly overwhelmed by the sense of fear and confusion, "Don't touch me!" he commanded the uncouth man. "I won't let him hurt us." He called glancing over his shoulder at his own noble face regarding him from the royal-chamber side of the frame. Lew turned his attention back to the black robed keeper and willed him…with all his might… to back off.
"You've always defended me, haven't you?" A voice, very like his, whispered from the other side of the mirror. Lew turned back to the glass to see that makeup, and fine clothes were gone from his reflection it seemed odd to see himself wigless as a peasant and dressed in rough journey clothes, but that must be how he appeared to the others on this unusual excursion.
"Don't fear," his mirrored self whispered, "memory can't hurt us now that things are better. My present keeper is different from the others. He is kind. But I must know. Who are we without our masks?"
The young king ran fingers idly through tangled honey-brown locks, longer and darker than his hair had ever been permitted to grow. He enjoyed the feel of it and stripped the hateful mask from his face as if it had been made of brittle parchment.
"We are frightened, but we are free," he told his spiky blond alter ego. The other nodded, understanding. "Sun and moon, we are alone together."
The nightmare released the young king as quickly as it had come, freeing him to return to his proper place and time. The young king was not as disturbed by this dream as another might have been.Years ago, before the old king died, Nana, the woman that looked after Louis, told him stories about creatures called doppelgangers: shadow-selves who accompany each human providing sympathetic company and support. These creatures are largely invisible except to the one paired with them. Some people believe they are guardian angels that listen and give advice to humans. Others believe they are mischief spirits who cause great confusion and get their owners in trouble. Louis didn't think ether view was correct. He had cause to know his doppelganger well. For most of his life Epée had been his only friend...all they shared were dream.
Andie was perplexed. The young girl thought she had a relatively thorough understanding of the way dreams worked. There was danger entering the mind of another. Richelieu intended to use gifts such as her own to harness the power of the dreaming mind making it tool to cause torment and fear… breaking spirit and mind.
Andie like her mother before saw this as a perversion of a gift God intended to soothe, comfort and heal never as a means to enforce their will on others…what she just experienced was unlike anything she had ever heard of or imagined.
"It's strange," Andie whispered. "I wonder if it happens to him often."
"What?" Jacqueline asked.
"The nightmare, if you want to call it that, didn't belong to him -- at least not all of it." Andie marveled. Through her gift, it seemed she had been a mute witness to two disparate souls separated and alone reaching out to find comfort in one another. A pale imitator like the old cardinal could never forge such a bond. It was a genuine miracle.
"Whose could it be?" Jacqueline wondered…the concept seemed so surreal; maybe in truth she was the one dreaming.
"I expect we may find out." The girl answered thoughtfully "Rest now. We still have a ways to go, and there is another storm coming.
o-o-o-o
At the place where the slow-moving Cher ends its northwest journey, merging its waters with mighty Loire, our little band set out into the little-visited area to the south called the Sologne. The Region has many moods, depending on the weather and the season. Fortunately, it was still quite warm in September and by in large the weather held. In late summer when the heather is in bloom and the ponds are full of water lilies the forests, lakes, ponds and marshes of the Sologne can be said to have a quiet magic – all its own.
Finally, as Lewis had been promised before setting out from the capital, they had the opportunity to do some hunting…Wild boar and deer roam in the wilds, not to mention duck, geese, quail and pheasant, which far outnumbered the small human population.
The king however had no concept of stealth; on previous expeditions in the wilderness, servants had driven game toward the hunting party. The young Berrichons taught him an entirely new way. Siroc was awed how easily Anton could locate a deer and pheasant and approach within mere feet of the wild creature without it taking fright. It was surprising to see one so large…move so gracefully. "You've got to move gentle and speak low when wild things are about." Gaston explained with a broad grin.
Andie recognized the proverb all too well. I was one of her father's favorites. Of course, Captain Jon had not meant conventional prey when he said it. The 'Wild Things" he spoke of were true predators on the hunt. Mother and Chosen had many extraordinary gifts but there were drawbacks as well, at times. In essence, Richelieu's meddling made them weapons. In peacetime, they needed to go out to run, let loose the beast within every few months: to hunt and kill, else they would become a danger to those around them.
This had been a governing fact of her life as long as Andie could remember. She knew that for ones such as they, the line between 'prey' and 'not-prey' can get mighty thin. Gaston though had grown up among gypsies and arena fighters, only occasionally spending summers in Berry. He did not know the rules. The young man had learned that -- regardless of his connection with nature – trying to sneak up on Chosen or Protector while they are on run can get a body pounced on hard enough to crack ribs.
The
cousins taught Lew to stalk and observe prey from hiding and in the
end – shot nothing. What could have been a trek through a sodden
wilderness; actually turned out rather pleasant.
o-o-o-o-o
In Paris however things had not been so settled. Cardinal Mazarin was so occupied with treaties and international relations -- plans to recall the army to deal with the turmoil of the Fronde -- that there was some question as to whether he noticed the king was missing at all. Great lengths had been taken to conceal Lewis' absence from the courtiers, most believed him ill. The Queen mother could not be said to have that diversion. She stayed mostly closeted in her rooms. Charles de Batz was beside himself as well. He had sent riders into the countryside discreetly seeking the runaway Royal. But he had been forced to recall them within a day's time when the people burst into open rebellion constructing barricades in the streets of Paris.
The Musketeers, Cardinal's Guards and Swiss Regiments all kept busy trying to secure even a fractious peace in the beleaguered capital. The spark of discontent had landed on the tinder of malaise and it seemed the resulting conflagration would not soon burn itself out.
o-o-o-o-o
Captain Porthos and the crew of Allie's Delight arrived in Berry le Feré days in advance of their former passengers. In consequence, the captain spent quality time with his treasured barmaid Allie. He so enjoyed the homecoming that he considered re-naming the russet-haired beauty Dame Allie Porthos instead of the ship… That is if she wouldn't mind becoming Mrs. Isaac Paulonius Olivier de Poitou.
He managed to acquire a ring some time ago. All that the irrepressible captain lacked was the courage to present it to her. And so the ship took the name "Marryme Alley." Truly the inestimable Allie didn't notice what was printed in bold golden letters across the ship's prow for several days. In response, she slyly inscribed the letters 'IDO' over the door to her cottage and after that "Porthos' pleasure" was secure.
o-o-o-o-o
When Porthos arrived in the port at Berry without the young Musketeers and their royal charge, Athos de le Feré did not take the news too well. In-fact he had all he could do to keep from ruining the captain's homecoming with accusations of dereliction of duty. In his heart the Count de la Feré knew Porthos was a private citizen and no longer a musketeer; thus he was able to serve the crown as he saw fit...this did not stop Athos from wanting to beat his friend about the ears.
The illustrious Count was still pacing his office like a caged beast when Protector found him. As the de facto keeper of the martial forces of Berry, Andie's mother had no qualms about intruding on the Count any time he needed council, whether the man knew to ask for it or not.
"They'll be all right," Protector confirmed, brown eyes glinting with flecks of green and gold. "Young Dart and his friends wouldn't be Musketeers if they weren't fully capable, Duvall knows the business."
Athos was not so easily reassured. "It's a long way overland. If Dart is anything like Charles was at that age, he could get lost in a bucket." The noble frowned. Protector watched him absentmindedly caress the pommel elegant belt-knife that hung where his saber ought to have been. She recognized the nervous habit, as a holdover from his musketeer days. She recognized the knife as well. It had been a gift from the old king, if she remembered correctly.
Protector tried again to ease her friend's fears. "You helped train Etienne and Anton. You know they are good lads and my Andie is with them. I've never known her sense of direction to fail. They'll be here in a couple of days."
Her words rang true; Athos knew it in his heart still he was reluctant to examine the emotion roiling within his breast. "Berry hasn't hosted a King since…" the Count faltered trepidation sharpening his tone. Thoughts of Louis XIII still filled the former Musketeer with emotion. He unconsciously gripped the hilt and nearly drew the razor sharp blade from its delicately tooled sheath. Could it be he was just as anxious about the party's arrival as he was by their delay?
Protector nodded wordlessly…Few understood the cause of his conflicted emotions as well as she did. The country had been clothed in mourning for months after the dreaded consumption stripped them prematurely of their king. Scholars lauded Louis XIII the annals of France named him le lion and le Juste. But there had been a time when the four legendary musketeers and the people of Berry knew the monarch had been Just Leo. That had changed…as the young king aged he became increasingly dependant on Richelieu. There is no denying many hoped the cardinal's demise would remind the king of passionate young man he had been-- climbing trees in the Sologne, skipping stones on the shores of la Feré, and laughingly sparring with the guardsmen who were his closest friends. Sadly, it did not happen. In the end, words un-spoken remain closeted in the heart. Years pass but memories lay undimmed and the ache of loss remains.
"This Louis is young" Protector reminded "Perhaps we have him before Mazarin's hooks are in so deep they can not be dislodged. Berry can make all the difference; you know what we've done thus far."
"I don't know, Princes can be mighty spoiled…And you know how Anne is." Athos sighed.
"Don't underestimate what makes Berry special," Andie's mother cautioned. "Here all slaves are free…even those chained to the state by a demanding crown. I am sure this Louis will appreciate the opportunity just as much as the rest of us do…but first he goes to Aramis. There are certain matters that need to be dealt with and secrets long lost that need to come out into the light."
"I know. It's about time too. What do you think D'artagnan will say when he finds out?" Athos asked…Protector only shrugged.
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Chapter XII: Reunion: just what is says folks – enjoy.
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