Chapter 21
Milady stood with her back to the closed doorway, her breathing coming fast and furious. Suzanne d'Angou had gone too far, and even the somewhat surprised look on Athos' face, had not cooled her anger. The woman was a menace, and soon – very soon – she would regret that kiss.
Regaining her composure, she returned to the quiet isolation of her room, or so she thought. Just as she closed the door and finally let go the breath she had been holding, there came a scratching at the door.
She faced the somewhat anxious footman with annoyance – until she noted that he was tall, lean, and fairly handsome. Still seething from her rival's earlier liberties, she invited the young man inside, whereupon he handed her a note, folded and sealed. She did not need to open the missive to know whom it was from. She had received enough of them demanding her presence to understand its significance, and it riled her all the more.
Purring at the young man standing before her, she caressed his knuckles as she took the note, taking her time to secrete it inside the bodice of her gown, making sure he watched her every move.
Milady tilted her head and offered up her most feline smile. 'I have not seen you before.' The young man, guessing her intentions and having an eye to make something of himself in the world, smiled back down at her; making no secret of his interest, as he appraised her slowly, from head to toe.
'No my lady, I have not been assigned to this staircase before, but I think I will enjoy the new challenge.' Brazen, to say the least, but it was all the encouragement she needed. Standing on her toes, she reached up and pulled him closer, stroking his pale skin as she pressed her lips to his. The young man required no further encouragement and greeted her manoeuvre with enthusiasm; so it was with some surprise that he suddenly found himself propelled across the room.
'Get out!' Milady yelled, her eyes flashing with anger, and something the young man failed to recognise – disappointment. Fearing she would accuse him of something that would cost him his life, he wasted no time arguing, but simply fled. She watched him run from the room, but gained no satisfaction from his departure, or the game she had orchestrated – this time she had played and lost. Oh lord, would that man never leave her be? Would every set of lips she ever kissed be compared to his, every caress, every touch, every look of arousal?
ooOoo
Athos had been glad to leave the room. Any other man would not have been surprised by the woman's behaviour; after all she had made her interest perfectly clear. But Athos was not any other man, and he never stopped to consider his attraction to women. Only one woman had ever captured his attention and his heart, and the experience would haunt him forever. Still, he was a man, and only human, and the swordsman had to acknowledge that Suzanne was a very attractive woman – perhaps in another time and another place, he may even have allowed himself to enjoy it, but this was neither. He was simply glad to avoid the inevitable scene; he did not like to think how his wife would react to the tableau she had walked in upon.
Pushing thoughts of both woman to the back of his mind, he continued along the corridors toward the main entrance, assuming he would find his friends questioning the errant footman. Outside was a hive of industry; even a small party of Musketeers were carrying a large amount of weaponry and the necessary items required for a such a journey such as this. Added to that, was the ridiculous amount of baggage and frippery the King insisted on bringing with him, most of which would never be used.
Musketeers, footmen, ostlers and even Red Guard, hurried back and forth, each with a job to do, and all with the same goal: to put a great deal of distance between themselves and the hunting lodge. The sooner they were organised, the sooner they could leave.
Athos headed for the large barn, from which most of the Musketeers' belongings would by now have been removed and stowed away, leaving it empty. Renier and Ducas stood by the entrance, their demeanour making it clear that nobody was getting past them. They acknowledged Athos' arrival, standing aside to allow him to pass. The barn's interior was dark after the glare of the late afternoon sunshine outside, and Athos had to blink to adjust his focus. The young miscreant was sat in the middle of the structure sitting on a wooden chair, surrounded by Treville, Porthos and Aramis. His wound had been dressed, but he still looked an unearthly shade of pale, and terrified. Treville gave Athos' arrival a cursory glance, but Aramis smiled broadly.
'Excellent timing my friend, this young man was just about to explain his earlier actions, and I am afraid Porthos was beginning to get a little frisky.' He leant a little closer to Athos and pretended to whisper, though his words were quite easy for all to hear.
'You know how he gets with traitors. Remember what he did to the last one? Messy.' Aramis kept a straight face, though his manner suggested he was worried. Porthos played along and moved a little closer to the mortified footman, who shook with sheer terror as the Musketeer towered over him. Athos gave nothing away, but drew his dagger slowly from his belt, the metal of the blade singing in the silence. Gazing at it with sudden interest the swordsman drew his finger carefully along the honed edge, as he too, stepped closer to the shivering footman.
'Porthos does have a point,' Athos drawled. 'This man did attempt to kill the King of France. It would be a kindness just to end it here and now.' He let the golden light from the high windows flash upon the deadly blade, and pretended to consider its weight, as though assessing its suitability for the task he had in mind.
'Of course, there is that,' Aramis considered. 'His punishment will not be nearly as quick as your blade. Hanging – perhaps even quartering.' Aramis shivered dramatically. 'Not pleasant ways to die but, as you rightly pointed out, he did try to kill our King.'
Now beyond fear, the young man hung his head and began to openly weep. Nobody said a word. Treville had let his men do what they did so well, and merely tried to give nothing away by his expression. As usual, their antics had the desired effect, and the prisoner was ready to confess all. Time for the Captain to intervene.
'What is your name?' he growled. 'Tell us all you know and perhaps I can persuade my men to let you live. But I must warn you, they take their role as protector of the King very seriously, and a prisoner on such a journey would only be in their way…' He let the implication of his words hang in the air. As the young man took in every move, Athos deftly tossed his dagger into the air, catching it with casual delight as it descended, before pointing it at the footman. It was the last straw.
'Gemma,' he gasped. 'You have not hurt her? She knew nothing of my intentions, she merely suspected I was going to approach the King, to plead with him on our behalf. She had no idea; you must believe me,' he beseeched Treville and the three men, with wide, desperate eyes.
'As it happens, we do.' Treville said quietly, though his voice still dripped with menace. 'She is well, and I am prepared to accept she had no part in your actions. No harm will come to her.' The young man finally lost any remaining resistance and slumped back in the chair.
'My name is Moray, Henri Moray. I have worked at the lodge for the past year. Gemma and I…' He hesitated and licked his lips. '… we wished to marry, but the King forbids his servants to form alliances, meaning one of us would have been forced to find work elsewhere. You can see how far we are from anywhere.' His voice took on a pleading tone. 'We would never have found other work and been able to stay together. We would either have had to leave together, or remain apart.
'Then the King arrived, with his oh so proper guests. Only they are not so proper at night, coming and going from each other's rooms. Yet Gemma and I could not do the right thing and marry under the same roof. It was wrong.' His face clouded and the anger was clear. Then he lowered his gaze and resumed his tale.
'One night I was visiting my parents, not too far away, drinking in the local inn. There was a party of men in there, and one in particular appeared to take a particular interest in the conversation I was having with an old friend. When my friend left, the stranger asked if he could take his seat.' The boy looked somewhat guilty. 'I suppose I had drunk more than was sensible, and I soon found myself telling the stranger about my problem. He, too, thought it unreasonable, and encouraged me to speak up for myself in front of the King. He bought me more ale, and then talk of me petitioning the King turned to talk of darker deeds. He convinced me I would be doing the nation a favour by ridding them of a King with such dubious morals, and one who could make such outrageous demands of those who worked hard to provide him with his every desire.' The boy looked thoughtful, then gazed at Aramis as though suspecting he may be the sole voice of reason amongst the company.
'It is obvious now that I was being used, and encouraged to act in a way I would never have considered myself. If I had never seen him again, I am sure the idea would have faded, and I would have seen the insanity behind it. However, when I rode away from our farm the next morning, the man fell in beside me as I neared the lodge. He bought up the conversation again, but this time he said he had been thinking, and perhaps the King had designs upon Gemma for himself. After all, he was the King, and he could do whatever he wanted with her. On hearing that, I lost all sense of reason and… well you saw what happened when I arrived. I am sorry, so sorry, I….' At this, he hung his head in his hands and sobbed.
Treville straightened his shoulders and looked toward his men. 'Well, that explanation seems to ring true. I think it is unlikely the boy is behind the rest of the troubles we have experienced.'
Abruptly, the boy lifted his head, interrupting his rocking motion, his red-rimmed eyes desperately searching each face. 'No, no, I have done nothing else, I swear. I did not touch the lady who was killed, I had no reason to hurt her. It was just this, only this, that I have been stupid enough to attempt.' He appeared appeased by their reaction, and returned to the rhythmic rocking movement in an attempt to comfort himself.
They were about to move away when Athos stopped, his expression thoughtful. The boy heard his booted feet approach and flinched. 'I mean you no harm, just tell me the truth, and you will not be hurt – at least not by me.' The swordsman raised a brow at the boy, who in turn nodded in understanding; his fate was pretty much sealed – just not here and now. Athos continued: 'Describe the man who talked you into this.' He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, just in case the lad was unsure whether or not to co-operate.
Having given it very little thought, the boy spoke. 'I would know him anywhere, his face was… well it was horrible, even though he tried to keep it covered. It was hot in the tavern, but he still had a scarf wrapped around most of his head. But every now and then, when he thought nobody was looking, he would unwind it and mop his brow. It was red and puckered, shiny like, horrible.' He looked wide-eyed at Athos in the hope he had said the right thing. He had still not forgotten the way the man had handled the blade.
Athos closed his eyes for an instant and nodded his head. He turned slowly, looking at Aramis and Porthos. 'Does that ring any bells?' Both men looked appalled, and shaking their heads they remained mute in their shared disbelief.
Treville scowled. 'What am I missing, gentlemen?' he asked, his voice thick with impatience. It was Athos who answered.
'I know of a man who would answer to that description. I certainly did not expect to encounter him here, but his resentment is deep and may even have degenerated into madness.' Again, he eyed his two friends, all of them reliving the moment when Athos had lain injured in the infirmary, at the mercy of the man who fitted the footman's description.
Aramis spoke, his voice quiet but deadly. 'Bisset.' Porthos growled with enough menace to make the man rocking on the chair behind them sit upright and stare with terror.
'That bastard. I would 'ave thought he knew when 'e was beat.' The big Musketeer cracked his knuckles, gripping his sword hilt with a snarl.
'Bisset? The man with the burns who attacked you in the garrison? What is he doing here, and do you mean to say he wishes to kill the King?' Treville looked totally bemused, as though an already complex situation was now becoming absurd.
It was Athos who answered, his face having taken on the look that usually accompanied some deep thought process or strategy. 'I cannot believe that all of this had been aimed at simply gaining revenge on me, for whatever wrongs he believes I have visited upon him. It is possible it was he who entered the château. Unfortunately, he entered the wrong room; her ladyship's room was, in fact, directly above the room allocated for the use of Musketeers stationed in the lodge. I suspect they fled realising their mistake. However, it was obviously not he who attacked Aramis and I when we checked the river, and I doubt he would have allowed anyone else to have the satisfaction of killing me; which perhaps explains why I was not killed when I entered the wood.' He looked toward the others to gauge their reactions.
Porthos looked puzzled. 'But why would 'e encourage the boy to kill the King?' Athos looked up, 'None of this makes perfect sense, but I believe he, or they, are trying to force us to flee the lodge. They obviously believe they can achieve their goal, whatever it may be, if we are once more on the road. I think that is why the boy was goaded into action, and I doubt they believed for one moment he would succeed. But on top of everything else, it would be sufficient for us to decide enough was enough and leave.' The others looked upon Athos with horror.
Treville ran his hand though his hair. 'Marvellous, now we are going to be sitting ducks for whoever it is who is waiting out there for us. I will approach the King and suggest we leave the women and courtiers here. At least with only His Majesty and the Cardinal to worry about, we will strengthen our advantage.' He made to move, but Athos placed his hand on the Captain's shoulder.
'I would not recommend such an action. Once the women and men of the court are left here, they will be unprotected, even if we were to leave a token number of Red Guard to stay behind. If the Queen were to be taken, she could be used as leverage for any plot they may have in mind.' He held Treville's gaze and waited.
'Walk with me,' Treville ordered. 'Aramis, Porthos, take the boy and secure him in the lodge. I will decide what to do with him when all this is over. Then make doubly sure we will be ready to leave first thing in the morning.' With that, he stalked away with Athos striding alongside him.
'What are you not telling me?' the Captain barked.
Athos remained silent for a minute. 'I do not believe this is simply a matter of personal revenge toward me. Bisset could easily pick me off in Paris, or from a dozen places, without going to the trouble of choosing this journey when he knows there will be Musketeers around me protecting the King.'
'Go on,' Treville urged.
'I do not believe Bissett is acting alone, but who he is working with, or why, I do not know.' Treville nodded thoughtfully.
'Could this be some sort of double plot? Gaston again?' the Captain asked, sounding somewhat incredulous.
'It does not feel like Gaston, though I would have liked to know he was nowhere near Paris when we left. I do not cherish the thought of him hovering anywhere near the throne should trouble befall the King.'
Treville looked appalled. 'I think it is time we had a chat with the First Minister.' He gave a sly smile and Athos smirked in return.
ooOoo
Daylight had long fallen beneath the velvety blanket of night as Treville and Athos ran up the steps to the lodge. Athos looked over his shoulder, pausing for a minute as he searched the blackness stretching out across the open space. The stars were winking in the sky, no clouds to obliterate their display. It would be a cold start in the morning if it stayed clear; the ground would be hard going on the horses, but firm for the coaches, provided the boggy ground did not freeze into deep ruts.
The hairs prickled slightly on Athos' neck, and he realised he had been aware of silent watchers ever since they had stopped to water the horses on the day of their departure. At least now he was able to put a name to one of the faces that waited out there in the darkness.
Treville stalked along the corridor, making already hurrying servants move even quicker to get out of his way. It was not in his nature to intimidate the lower orders, but at this moment he was not in the mood to be reasonable.
He reached the door to the Cardinal's apartment and knocked loudly. Richelieu answered the door with a somewhat perplexed look upon his face. 'What is it now Treville? Has one of the cooks run amuck with a cleaver, or perhaps the ostler is threatening the King with a branding iron?' He sneered with amusement as the Captain clenched his jaw and silently accepted the reminder of his failings to protect the King.
Treville straightened his shoulders and spoke merely loud enough for the Cardinal to hear. 'Enough of your posturing, we do not have time. We need to talk, and I do not want you to waste my time with your plotting, lies, and subterfuge.' Treville pushed his way into the room and Athos followed.
'Well, well, what is it you wish to discuss?' Richelieu asked, his eyes narrowed in anticipation of the Captain's request.
'What do you know about Gaston's whereabouts? Could he be near Paris?' Treville asked, his voice brooking no reticence. Whatever the Cardinal had been expecting, it had not been this. His eyebrows rose in astonishment, before he began to frown.
'Gaston? What on earth does he have to do with any of this?' the surprised Minister asked.
'Perhaps nothing,' replied Treville, taking in the First Minister's genuine surprise. 'However, we have learnt that the young footman was encouraged to act as he did by outside forces, who may or may not be known to us. If Gaston is hoping to have the King killed on route to Rambouillet, or somewhere else, is he in a position to access the throne quickly? Is he near Paris?' For once Richelieu did not prevaricate or attempt to deflect the Musketeer Captain. In fact, he appeared to be giving the question his full attention.
'No, I do not believe he is. Information that reached me before we left indicated he may not even be in the country; it is possible he is hiding in Flanders until the King has calmed down following Gaston's most recent act of stupidity.' Despite the Duke's latest attempt to assassinate his brother and seize the throne, it was not without precedence for the King to forgive his errant sibling, giving credence to Gaston's behaviour.
Treville accepted Richelieu's information with a brief nod. 'Very well, but if you know anything at all that I need to hear, now is the time to disclose it. Once we are on the road tomorrow it will be too late.' He hesitated for a moment to give the Cardinal time to make any necessary revelations.
'I assure you, Captain, I have no pertinent information to offer you. I can only rely on your men to do their job until we reach the safety of the château. In the meantime, I will attempt to persuade His Highness to make Rambouillet our final destination. After the events of the last few days, I feel his enthusiasm for this trip is waning, and he may be looking for a reasonable excuse to return to Paris without appearing to be intimidated.'
'That would be perfect,' Treville hissed. 'I suggest you do what you do best and convince the King that returning to Paris would be in everyone's best interest.' With that, he turned on his heel and left the room, Athos in his wake.
'You and the others get plenty of rest, I want you to surround the King's coach tomorrow. Nobody goes near that coach apart from you, Aramis and Porthos. Is that understood?' Athos nodded, realising he was nodding at thin air, as the Musketeer Captain had already stalked away toward the King's rooms, where he was expected to update the sulking monarch.
ooOoo
Milady awoke from a fitful sleep. She was still fully-dressed, and made her way to the water pitcher in an attempt to erase the tiredness that clung to her. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed, weary of it all and, sinking to the chair, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was a beautiful woman and she knew that; men desired her, she knew that too. But she was also sensible enough to appreciate her beauty would not last forever, and what would she do then?
The very fact that her future relied upon her attraction made her cold inside. Men ruled the world, and all a woman had to keep her from starving was her dowry, her beauty, and her skill in bed. Without warning, her mind strayed to a summer day, a green meadow, Athos smiling down at her, promising to be hers until her final breath. That irony was not lost on her, the jolt of the rope fresh in her mind, enough to break her out of the unusual well of self-reflection she had allowed herself to fall into.
Her sudden movement rustled the note still secreted inside her bodice. With a sharp reminder of whom it was from, she reached and pulled it from the warm velvet.
Private chapel, as soon as it is dark.
For some reason, the lack of gentility only exacerbated her current mood. Was she beginning to lose her edge? Why did she suddenly wish for something more? She was tired of being at the First Minister's beck and call, a mere pawn in a man's game. Perhaps mortality did not seem so far away. Who knew what lay around the corner – would she die without ever feeling that warm sensation in the pit of her stomach that flared at the mere site of another, knowing that they felt the same for her?
With a sigh of frustration and the cold weight of inevitability, she rose from the bed. The light from the window had already faded, and the sound of footsteps up and down the corridor were a reminder of their imminent departure the next morning; though she doubted it would be much before lunch, for the King was no early riser. Still, in light of the day's events, even he may make an exception. Milady moved to the window and watched the remains of the day as it slipped below the horizon. Perhaps, at last, Richelieu would give her something to keep her occupied, something to engage her mind, anything that was not her husband.
While most of the château slept, Milady slipped quietly from her room, making her way to the small chapel built on the upper floors for the royal party's private worship. The small room had no windows that could offer a view, or distraction, from the main purpose of those finding themselves in need of its confines. It was high-ceilinged, with incense holders hanging low, swinging with a stifled groan from the beams. The room reeked of the cloying scent, and no sign of the twinkling stars could be seen through the stained-glass scenes, depicting martyrs and saints, set high up in the plain plastered walls.
The swish of silk upon the thick carpeted floors was the only sound, the flickering candles that lit the small altar the only light. She was aware of the black shape that knelt before the ornate crucifix, and not for the first time wondered at the man's true belief. Was it really in God, or was it in fact only in himself?
As she walked slowly toward him, he rose and turned to face her, but not before completing his prayer and genuflecting in front of the cross.
'Good, you are here. Listen carefully, it is time for you to be useful.' He continued to outline the information Treville had shared with him, and all the while she listened with interest waiting for the part that involved her.
'So tomorrow, I want you to make sure you ride in the coach with us.' Milady frowned. The royal coach was certainly roomy, and previously the Comte and Comtesse de Foi had ridden with the King, Queen and Cardinal to provide the King with entertainment. 'I will make some excuse about separating the Royal party for their own protection, retaining a single lady for the Queen.'
'What exactly do you expect me to do?' she asked, still wary of the Minister's intentions.
'Protect the King, what do you think? I did not bring you just to look pretty and moon over Athos.' The comment hit her like a bucket of iced water, but she would not give him the satisfaction of showing it.
'I appreciate a handsome man like any other woman, but I doubt I have ever mooned,' she replied with a bored tone. 'Exactly how do you expect me to save the King when a host of Musketeers fail? Presuming they will have failed if whoever it is you are expecting get as far as the coach.' Giving the first sign that his sang froid was beginning to slip, Richelieu ran his hand over his eyes before answering.
'I have every faith in your skills, but I doubt anyone else will see you as anything other than a defenceless woman, and I expect it will not be the first time you have turned that to your advantage.' He smirked once more.
'What about the Queen?' Milady asked, watching his reaction with interest.
The First Minister shrugged his shoulders, 'A Queen is not irreplaceable. Your duty is to your King – just see that you do it.' With that, he indicated the interview was over. As always, she complied and walked away. But oh how she wished for that day, the day when she could be the one to decide when the conversation was over, that she was done with his unsavoury demands.