CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Milady had gone back to the side room, her temper frayed by Treville's attitude and her inability to confront her husband.
For the moment she had retreated to consider her options.
She flung open the window and sat on the window sill, furiously fanning her reddened cheeks.
Peering across the large square courtyard beneath her, her eyes fell on a lone palace guard, standing not too far away. Something about his ill-fitting uniform attracted her closer attention. Her hand dropped to her lap as she slowly rose.
She would know that man anywhere.
Taking her eyes off him, she slipped off the window sill and made her way outside to the courtyard. Looking around, she saw the man she sought in the shadows to the side of the stable block, his eyes trained on the main wing. Working her way around the building, Milady came up behind him and deftly put a blade to his throat.
"What are you doing here Dubois?" she hissed.
He tensed but did not move.
"I see you have lost none of your stealth. I could ask you the same thing, Milady," he ground out.
"Meaning what?" she said, pressing her blade a little more firmly.
"I saw you talking to the Musketeer in the market place. You were practically nose to nose. The same Musketeer you knelt before when our men were dead!"
She thought furiously on his words, before realising what he was talking about, and indeed, when.
"He had his sword to my heart, Dubois, or did you not see that!" she hissed.
"You were quite a sight, that day in the market," Dubois growled, ignoring her reply. "All done up in your finery, your packages carried by a lackey. So I followed you. Straight here, to the palace. You betrayed us to the Musketeers that day and now you are mistress to the King? Am I supposed to believe you are innocent?"
"Sarazin would have betrayed you in the end," she sighed in mock exasperation, although her mind whirled. "Did you think you could better the King's own regiment that day in that alleyway?"
"Your Musketeer is here," he suddenly said, pushing against her. "Perhaps I will kill him after I have taken the King's diamonds."
"That would be foolish," she hissed. "The Musketeers are guarding the King. If you kill one of their own, you will not leave this place alive."
"Then, while they are busy, guarding the King," he countered, "You will show me to the King's apartments."
She really did not have time for this.
"How many are you?" she asked. "The King has several rooms," she added, slowly lowering her blade.
He did not reply.
This was a dilemma.
Dubois had been one of Sarazin's men. He had obviously escaped the Musketeer's revenge. She had barely escaped it herself, Athos's blade held to her heart. She had seen the look in her husband's eye. It was only the quiet entreaty of his friends that had stilled his hand that day.
Dubois had seen her in the market place on one of her shopping excursions, a servant trailing behind her, carrying her purchases. How stupid of her. How obvious she must have looked. She had let her guard down. Dubois had followed her and she had led him straight to the Louvre.
Knowing her as he did, and realising the position she now held, he obviously sought to snare her into helping him in his mission to pillage the palace. But, he would not be working alone, she was sure. Her secret was certainly not safe. Treville, she could cope with, but this man was another matter.
Unaware she had been under surveillance, Milady had always considered Rochefort to be her main threat in the palace. He had threatened her in no uncertain terms. He had seen the scar she bore on her throat; the mark of a common criminal. She was under the King's protection though, but he had given her no doubt that as soon as he had evidence of her crimes, her days in the palace were numbered.
Treville, Rochefort and now, Dubois all knew her secret. If the King were to find out …
Coming to a decision, she slipped her blade back in her skirt.
"What is your plan?" she smiled, slipping back into the shadows of the stable block as he turned to her.
oOo
A little while later, she made her way swiftly back across the courtyard and back into the main building.
Dubois would await her signal.
She could report this to Rochefort, but he too was looking for the last piece of the puzzle that was her backstory. This would be that piece. He would use it against her. He would probably use it against the Musketeers too, perhaps sending a contingent of Red Guard flooding into the palace without warning, leaving the Musketeers floundering.
Of the two regiments, she preferred the Musketeers, mainly because she still had some sway over them. Being the mistress to the King of France, they were honour-bound to protect her as well as the King and Queen. But if the Musketeers discovered Sarazin's men in the palace, they would blame her. Of course, they would. Again, she was in a very difficult position.
No, this was something she would have to handle herself. One way or another, she would protect her position within the palace. One way or another, she would benefit from it.
She slipped into the main wing.
Her weapons were in her apartments and she would need them.
Dubois was expecting her to return with the keys to the King's apartments.
oOo
For Dubois's part, he had watched her make her way back into the main wing of the palace.
He had failed to tell her that today, unknown to her, she had five foes who all knew her background, including him. Two were now dressed as guards and three as footmen. In their planning, they had no doubt that, given an ultimatum, she would fall in with them, privy as she must be to all manner of treasures. After all, in her time, she had been a master thief. However, she was not to be under estimated. Indeed, she had found him before he found her. That had been unexpected. There was the possibility though that she was here in the palace, working toward the same goal. He and his men would have their share of it.
oOo
The last petitioners had filed from the King's presence and it was time for the King and the Comte de la Fere to meet.
Aramis, d'Artagnan and Porthos flanked Louis, their backs to the window, eyes straight ahead.
"The Comte de la Fere, Sire," Treville said, before stepping back.
Louis waved "Athos" forward. For that is who he saw before him.
Olivier approached the dais and bowed.
It was not exactly the same bow that he made as a Musketeer, but Louis smiled, though his smile dropped as Athos straightened and looked at him. Louis looked nervously at Treville.
"I believe you have met before," Treville offered, prompting his King.
It was the opening he had suggested to the King, to take is mind back to that time when they were both sixteen.
Louis looked gratefully at Treville and sat back.
"Ah, yes!" he cried, pleased with the direction.
"It is some years since we met, Sire," the Comte interjected. "We were boys."
"I recall the meeting," Louis replied, not sure what to call the man before him. "Your father was an imposing man, as I recall."
"He took his duties as Comte of la Fere very seriously, Your Majesty," Olivier confirmed.
"He did! He did!" Louis replied happily. "My mother tried to enlist him to her cause, if memory serves?"
Damn, thought Treville. Louis was already diverting into dangerous territory. Was he suggesting Athos's father was a traitor?
"He was not a political man," the Comte replied, dipping his head, before raising his eyes and giving the King a genuine smile; "At least, not to that extent."
Marie de Medici had sought alliances to maintain her power. She had ruled as Regent since Louis was nine years old, following the assassination of Henry, her husband. At sixteen, Louis was growing restless to rule and she was not ready to relinquish control.
Treville assessed the King, who was considering the Comte's reply.
Suddenly, he smiled a bright smile and clapped his hands.
"Indeed! That is how I remember it, Comte!" he replied and Treville relaxed, as did Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan.
Louis then asked about la Fere and the responsibilities of his estate. Back on safe ground, once more, Treville stepped back.
The remaining conversation was straightforward, though the King scrutinised the Comte a little more than he may have done, given different circumstances.
Olivier thought the King looked little changed from the time he remembered. Indeed, there was still a child-like quality about him. It had been a fascinating day for the young sixteen year old Comte, who had acquitted himself well at the time. His father had not criticised him on the journey home the next day, at least.
"And now, you have met my Musketeers!" the King was saying, after Treville had silently run his fingers down his blue cloak, giving Louis another prompt for discussion.
"I am very proud of my Regiment," he added, "Though they can be a handful, eh, Treville?"
Treville gave him a forced smile and bowed, staring at the floor with a set jaw.
"They have been looking after you, I trust, Comte?" the King now asked.
"Very well, thank you, Sire,"
Louis smiled a quick smile, which dropped away. He wished his wife were here, she would know what to say next. It was strange making stilted conversation with his best Musketeer swordsman while speaking of another time that he barely remembered.
"And your injury? The King said, indicating the sling.
"Much better, thank you, Sire."
It seemed the Comte was running out of polite things to say too.
However, they were both saved from an embarrassing silence as a guttural scream emanated from an adjoining room.
The scream, most definitely male, was chilling.
To be continued ...