Sign of the Cross
By JeanTre16
Chapter 12
Shadows from the Past
Siroc, Ramon and the occupants in the carriage patiently waited on the road for the d'Artagnans to change and join them. Once again, the three sisters found themselves serving as a cover for their Musketeer friends. This time, Rosa, Dora and Maria's queen-guaranteed passage provided for the couple's expedient departure from Paris without raising the attention of the Cardinal's men. The red-coated men, who were currently turning the town upside down looking for the fugitives, had approved their travel orders that morning without incident. The legitimate, but covert, coast-bound entourage had packed fresh clothes and fresh mounts for Jacqueline and d'Artagnan to aid in their escape. But it was the note of importance in Siroc's safe-keeping that made the group anxious for the couple's appearance.
When the man and wife emerged from the wooded hot springs recluse, they were refreshed and wore their civilian clothing. Around Jacqueline's neck, she wore the cross necklace that had not left her possession since Gerard had returned it to her.
Siroc immediately met d'Artagnan with the sealed letter Captain Duval gave him to deliver. Handing it over with urgency, he solidly clasped his friend on the arm to convey his condolences for the predicament they were in. Furthermore, the blond-haired man took it upon himself to deliver the bad news that Cardinal Mazarin had based the arrest warrant upon. "Apparently, Mazarin somehow made connections between Jacqueline and Jacques, and then connected you with harboring and concealing her..."
"If that's the case," Jacqueline spoke up, interrupting Siroc, "then Captain Duval and the Musketeers could be in serious trouble." When the implications of the charges dawned on her, she closed her eyes, grieving the repercussions of her actions.
D'Artagnan placed his hand on her arm to bring her back to her senses. His solemn glance reminded her of the conversation they had earlier about rightfully placing the blame. And in his eyes she could see his anger toward the Cardinal set like flint.
He was right, this was Mazarin's attempt to destroy their lives as well as ruin the Musketeers. Yet, she could not help carrying some of the blame for her part in willfully misleading people to think she had been someone that she had not been. It had been her choice to become Jacques Leponte.
The Frenchman's attention returned to the letter with a frown. Noting that its delivery accompanied such grave news, he considered that it might contain a final word from his captain. He nodded at Siroc in acknowledgement of its receipt, and turned to open and pour over it in private. In the letter, Duval explained that he had contingency plans in place for Jacqueline and him ever since their trip to Marseille. It went on to state that after Jacqueline's acquittal, he had hoped there would be no need to enact them, but was nevertheless thankful for having kept them in order. After ending his correspondence with an appeal to God for their deliverance, the captain placed one odd phrase at the bottom of the page. Looking up from the letter, d'Artagnan read aloud in startled revelation, "La Porte House, Vestige."
Not understanding what he meant, the inquisitive courier asked, "So what does 'la porte house vestige' mean?"
D'Artagnan had not realized he had spoken out loud, and looked around to see everyone's eyes glued upon him. He turned business-like as he shoved the note in his vest. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the ensemble and smugly chose his words with care. "It means that Jacqueline and I are going to meet up with some old…scoundrels." Turning to his quizzical faced wife, he added sarcastically for her sake, "Your type of men. You'll love them."
Somehow, the still-in-the-dark woman doubted he meant just that and hoped he would expound on his statement. When he did not, but instead pressed his way past the dumbfounded group, Jacqueline felt slighted at his secretiveness. What did her husband know about this 'la porte house vestige' that triggered this kind of reaction from him? And why could he not share it with his friends? She wondered as her eyes followed him.
D'Artagnan paused for a moment and turned back to Jacqueline. Leaning over toward her ear, he said in a lowered voice, "I'm guessing this is our 'clue' we asked for." His lively eyes darted to and fro in thought. But without further comment, he walked off toward his horse.
Those were not exactly the words Jacqueline had been hoping for, and they certainly had not shed any light on what the mysterious note had meant; except that, obviously d'Artagnan knew what it stood for, and he wasn't talking.
Whatever it implied, he did not look relieved to have received it. Growing antsier by the moment, the nobly dressed man called out, "Well, we're not getting anywhere just standing around here talking about it. Let's get moving." He sat astride his horse and saw that everyone was still hoping for some explanation from him. All he appeased them with was, "We'll follow you until we reach Rouen, then we'll have to part ways."
Rouen. The town's name rang as an evil omen in Jacqueline's ears. She was not superstitious—she believed that God was the final authority in all matters—but the town held its dark history. It had been there, in the Old Market Square, that Joan of Arc had been burned at the stake on the charges of heresy and wearing masculine clothing. She looked at her friend, Ramon, and gave a short, pathetic chuckle. She could hear her poetic friend romanticizing the whole situation by telling her to look at the bright side. After she was put to death, like Joan of Arc, twenty-five years from now her name would be cleared and the Catholic Church would canonize her as a Saint. The wanted woman didn't find much comfort in the thought and the ominous parallels gave her the chills. Crossing her arms to calm her nerves, she bit her lip as she looked around at the small band of loyal friends. She prayed that whatever difficult path lie ahead, that God would be with them all.
When the group realized they would get nothing more out of d'Artagnan, regarding Captain Duval's letter, they grudgingly put themselves into motion. Sensing the encrypted words had somehow riled their comrade, causing him to seek solitude, they left him alone. A disappointed Jacqueline gave her husband one last worried look and climbed into the carriage to join the sisters. They were on their way.
D'Artagnan eagerly rode ahead of the group for a time before Siroc suggested the fugitive Musketeer sit inside the carriage, out of sight. They were nearing Rouen and the intuitive man felt it was only a matter of time before they ran into the Cardinal's men. Although the wanted man was not keen on joining the four women, with a sigh of resignation, he took the advice of his blond-haired comrade.
Entering the coach, he gave a un-d'Artagnan-like brief word of greeting to Rosa, Dora and Maria, and placed a placid kiss on his wife's hand. Seating himself across from Jacqueline on the rear bench, he turned to face the rear window, where he slit the fabric enough to focus his attention to their rear guard. Rubbing his tired eyes, he then withdrew to the company of his own thoughts for the duration of their passage.
His wife was puzzled at his odd behavior. She studied this new side of d'Artagnan. What could possibly have been said in the captain's letter to have brought such a change over him? It was like a dark cloud suddenly came over him. Even in their fleeing earlier that day, he had carried her with his optimism. His characteristic cavalier attitude had been immediately replaced with a distracted irritability. It made her feel tense and she sensed the tension in him too.
"Don't worry, Jacqueline," an intuitive Rosa consoled when she saw the worried look on her friend's face. The Spanish woman recalled her confidant's words that were meant to be an encouragement for her the other day, 'We never know exactly what we'll do until we're faced with our trials. We just have to be sure who we are before we face them.' How much had changed in this dear acquired sister's life. The woman about to embark on her own uncharted journey's heart went out to her. She placed a caring hand on the Frenchwoman's wrist and looked compassionately into her troubled eyes. "I know that whatever will happen, your noble characters will lead you both in the right actions."
Jacqueline smiled weakly, hoping to relay appreciation of Rosa's kind words. But she could not get her mind off where they were heading and her husband's uncharacteristically dark mood. Unable to hold even a front of civility, her eyes drifted to the passing scenery outside the curtained windows. Eventually, the sound of the carriage wheels drowned out her thoughts, and the coach's shuddering motion numbed her frayed nerves.
Thinking better to cover the distance in silence, Siroc informed Ramon that he would ride ahead a short way and forewarn them of any impending trouble. Likewise, Ramon would drive the carriage, while d'Artagnan would keep a watchful eye on their rear through the carriage window. No one spoke in the surmounting suspense; it was not a matter of if, but of when they would have their encounter.
As suspected, Siroc spotted an upcoming blockade and slowed his mount to give the appropriate warning signal to Ramon. The forerunner once again strained his eyes to clarify a strange familiarity about one of the guards he saw. In his positive identification of the red-coated dupe, the scientist grumbled, "Oh, no, not him."
By this time, Siroc's horse had fallen back close enough to the pacing carriage for the Spaniard to overhear his groaning comrade. "Him?" he asked and knit his brows in question.
Siroc brought his horse alongside the carriage. "Him," repeated the blond-haired man with disdain. "He's the same guard from the palace the other day." Looking at Ramon, the man on horseback gestured with a twitch of his head toward two red-clad men on the road. Seeing his comrade was still in the dark, he rolled his eyes and reluctantly expounded, "The one I had to knock out." His tone of voice relayed the repulsion he felt toward the philandering henchman. The disturbing memory made the man formerly disguised in the alias of Sophia shudder at the sight of him.
To the previous enactor's favor, Ramon pieced together the events and an enlightened look crept over his face. "Ah!" he exclaimed. With a growing, reflective grin and a shake of his head, he prodded. "You know, I doubt you have anything to worry about, amigo. Your admirer will not recognize you without your makeup on." The poet stifled back his laughter. He thought it almost poetic that his ingenious friend always managed to attract the unexpected in his cleverly thought out schemes.
The loathsome feeling Musketeer gave his comrade a dry look and said, "Be quiet, Ramon." Reluctant to face any more humiliation from his taunting friend, the rider fell back to knock on the carriage door and inform its occupants of their impending stop. He warned d'Artagnan not to try anything, but rather to stay down and out of sight. Having relayed his caution, Siroc rode ahead to meet the guards.
When they arrived at the checkpoint, Mazarin's men asked the escorting soldiers to produce their papers and state their business.
Not wanting to be noticed by the previously acquainted palace guard, Siroc cleared his throat to make sure he spoke in a commanding, masculine tone. "We're headed for Le Havre. We have three sisters and their handmaid, who have been guaranteed safe passage from the queen. They're due to set sail first thing tomorrow morning." He treated their encounter casually, but with urgency. The Musketeer hoped that the mention of a handmaid would give Jacqueline excuse for being in the carriage, should they actually want to look inside. But he hoped he would be able to keep the guards from feeling the need to search the carriage. If the paperwork and his act were convincing, he might just succeed. The quick-thinking inventor had fooled this unscrupulous guard once, and it gave him confidence he could do it again.
The philandering man from the palace looked at the orders while the second guard walked around the carriage. The later man scrutinized the transport, as if in doing so it would reveal something crucial to him. The first guard, reviewing the orders, looked suspiciously at Siroc and questioned, "You wouldn't have seen a man and woman traveling by foot along the way…would you?" He handed the pass back to Siroc and extended a piece of parchment of his own with a hastily sketched picture of Jacqueline and d'Artagnan on it.
"No," Siroc flatly answered, looking the guard straight in the face without even so much as glancing at the poster.
Seeing that no further reply was to be gained, the guard nodded at his examining companion to go ahead with the investigation of the carriage. "Then we'll have to search you," he said to the unforthcoming Musketeer.
The brothers-in-arms pricked, but held their ground. If necessary, they were ready to deal with these two henchmen. In particular, the coach occupants had been listening for cues of what may befall them. Hearing the approaching guard, d'Artagnan slowly rose from his position on the floor to crouch in front of the door.
Jacqueline shook her head at him and sternly mouthed the word 'no.' But seeing the returned glare on her husband's face convinced her he was not in the mood for talking things out. Preparing herself for whatever rash move he was about to make, she found her rapier. It had been placed in the carriage for an emergency such as this. Waiting, she wrapped her hand tightly around its hilt. In the last approaching moments she glanced at her three Spanish friends, and gave them a solemn nod of warning to gird themselves for action.
A tense, but reassuring Rosa met Jacqueline's eyes in understanding. She had no doubt this feminine Musketeer was fully capable of wielding the weapon she held, but the sight was a revelation to her. To see Jacqueline poised in ready confidence, placed a new respect in the Spanish woman's mind of her endeared friend.
Unlike her sister, the scene frightened Maria, and she moved closer into the eldest's protective arms to await the anticipated battle.
Dora sat quietly in the protective lee of Jacqueline, leaning as far back on the shared bench as possible from the door.
As soon as the carriage door swung open, d'Artagnan's fist met the startled guard's face, sending him sprawling backwards to the ground. He was laid out cold.
Siroc's quick thinking detained the second guard's approach to the carriage. "I wouldn't get any closer if I were you. My sister may be shy, but she doesn't take too kindly to strange men peeking in on her."
D'Artagnan listened to Siroc's intrigue and detained his bailment from the carriage. He understood his comrade was attempting to deter further conflict.
The palace guard did a double-take on the cautioning Musketeer and eyed him for recognition. Finding a familiarity in the blond man's face, he asked, "By any chance, was your sister in the company of three Spanish women at the palace the other day?"
Siroc crossed his arms casually over the front of his saddle and looked the man smugly in the eyes. "The very one," he stated, matter-of-factly.
Alarmed at the reminder of his unpleasant experience with the shy blond-haired woman at the palace, and the association she had with this Musketeer, the guard gave another glance at his unconscious partner and hastily waved the group on. "Go," he said, "move along your way." He was anxious to put this memory behind him as well as the previous one in Paris.
Moving along, the entourage did not have to go far before seeing the rooftops of Rouen. D'Artagnan requested the carriage stop and informed the group that Jacqueline and he would be parting their company. He was certain the guard he had rendered unconscious had gotten a glimpse of him. When the man came to, the fugitive knew Mazarin's men would be all over the area searching for them. They would have to take their chances alone now and part with the others.
There was a quick round of hugs and mention of God's best for all, and the young married couple left their friends and headed north on horseback. Concurrently, Ramon and Siroc continued on to the port of La Havre with Rosa and her sisters.
Jacqueline's parting was one of mixed feelings. Although she was only too relieved to put distance between her and the ill-omened city of Rouen, she would miss the bond she had felt with these three women of strength and integrity. The fleeing woman hoped all would go well for her sailing friends in the Americas. Her heart tugged for Ramon and Rosa. And in the sacrifice the Spanish man and woman were making for one another, she couldn't help being reminded of the sacrifice that d'Artagnan had made for her. The outcomes were different, but in either case, love had cost something. The bitter sweetness in Jacqueline's heart bore testimony of that truth.
ooooooo
For two days the d'Artagnans rode hard and stopped only to rest, eat and tend to their horses. Jacqueline could tell their course paralleled the coast; yet, they kept to an inland route to hide their positioning in the woods. There were few people on the back roads and plenty of underbrush to get lost in, should the need arise to dodge capture. All the wife of the driven man could do was to keep up with her husband's maddening pace. Jacqueline followed; she had no idea where they were headed. His words were few and he still had not said anything to her concerning Captain Duval's mysterious note.
On the third morning of their ride, they approached the port town of Calais in northern France. D'Artagnan dismounted his horse on the edge of a large grassed area and removed its reins to allow the belabored animal its freedom. Siroc and Ramon had not wanted to tip off to anyone that they would be meeting the favored riders of the dark bay and dapple gray, so they left their horses in the stables and took two well-trained distance runners instead. The Musketeers would lose two fine horses to the locals of Calais, but the young man found some solace in knowing that his own patrol assistant would go to Ramon's stead. Encouraging Jacqueline to do the same and loose her mount, he informed, "We won't need them where we're going."
After a parting moment with his gallant companion, who had fared him well over the last several days, he turned his attention to rummaging through the contents of his saddlebag. Finding a few of Siroc's creative handiworks, tailored for the female Musketeer, he tossed them to Jacqueline. None of it was Musketeer issue; thus, nothing was traceable to their former association with the king's soldiers.
Without waiting for her to ask questions, he pointed out a building near the dock. On the sign were the words: La Porte House. "We'll be going in there to…book passage—" he looked at her dubiously and added "—more or less."
In the midst of watching d'Artagnan assess their arsenal, Jacqueline quickly suspected that her husband's alluded 'booked passage' would be more accurately stated as hijacking a boat. The sign on the building, she could equate to the words 'La Porte House,' but what about the word 'vestige?' Any way she looked at the whole matter, she was nervous. First, she had no idea where they were going, and why taking a boat by force was necessary. Second, and probably the most unnerving, was that she had un-admittedly never voyaged on the open sea before. Little river boats were the extent of her experience; never had she been on the untamed ocean. The daunted thought made her feel nauseated. But the feeling of queasiness in her stomach and her unpleasant thoughts were cut short by her conspiring partner's placement of a rapier in her already laden hands.
"Here, you're going to need this," he warned, before beginning his decent toward town.
Furrowing her brow at his unexplained behavior, she quickly shoved the smaller objects into her Siroc-engineered dress pockets and gripped the hilt of her rapier in her right hand. She stepped quickly to catch up with him and asked, "And when were you going to let me in on your little secret and tell me why we're about to steal someone's boat?" Jacqueline looked cross. "For that matter, can you tell me what we're going to do with it once we get it? I've never been on—let alone navigated—a sea-going vessel, have you?"
D'Artagnan impatiently looked back at her, and answered, "Porthos taught me the basics of handling a ship, and who said anything about stealing it? Now, would you like to stand here and continue asking me these questions or are we going to get going?" He did not wait for her to answer, but resumed his pace toward the port house.
His last statement pricked her the wrong way. As she felt the past three days worth of irritation and grief well up in her, she was sure if she had not grown to trust him over the past year, she would have smacked him and left him right then and there. 'What ever had gotten into him?' She fumed.
On occasion, d'Artagnan would go off on one of his hell-bent missions and drag the others into it with him. Being convinced he was right about something, he would dangerously walk the line of insubordination. He had blatantly disobeyed his own father's orders on a hunch once. And on another occasion, he had pressured her into playing the part of an informant, when he suspected love might have been making a fool out of Captain Duval. His unpredictability and fearlessness drove her crazy. And at the same time it made her respect him. Jacqueline breathed out heavily; she would trust him and follow.
The two well-armed fugitives approached the sparsely windowed port house making sure no one saw them. Sneaking behind the building, they found an unlocked door where d'Artagnan stole a peek inside. Assessing the occupancy, he held up two fingers to signify two men to be inside. He nodded to Jacqueline to prepare for a quick entry.
On the count of three, the two burglars burst open the door and were upon the startled port-master and guard before they knew what happened. The element of surprise was clearly in their favor. D'Artagnan held the guard at sword-point, while Jacqueline put the tip of her rapier at the neck of the seated port-master. At her beckoning, the seated man slowly turned his chair about to face his female assaulter. Trembling with fear, the thin official put his hands in the air to await further command. The female swordsman glanced at her accomplice to make sure he had the situation under control, and then quickly made her way to the front door to place the 'closed' sign on it and bolt it shut.
"Well, are you going to stand there and waste all of our time by making me hunt for the cuffs or are you going to provide them for me?" D'Artagnan arrogantly prodded the guard into action with word and sword.
A stunned and obviously inexperienced shipyard guard fumbled into motion to reveal a drawer full of metal cuffs.
"Good—" d'Artagnan motioned with the tip of his rapier toward the drawer "—now place them on our friend here, and then put a pair on your own feet."
Although Jacqueline was not keen on what they were doing and still was not exactly sure why they were doing it, she had her own contributing idea. "You—" she gestured commandingly toward the port-master "—take your clothes off first."
Her startled husband shifted his eyes toward her in question. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"How do you think I got those clothes I had on the day we first met?" she pertly replied. Since their 'wanted poster' depicted a man and woman, she figured it would be less conspicuous for two men to be approaching the dock than for a couple. Hopefully the disguise would buy them enough time to secure their boat and be on their way before the two shackled men in the port house were discovered. Looking at the stalled port master, she re-instigated, "Well, come on, we haven't got all day."
The corner of d'Artagnan's mouth rose in amusement. "I'm hurt, you never held me at sword-tip to make me undress for you," he suggestively relayed.
"As I recall, you never needed the encouragement," she retorted.
As they waited for the men to finish carrying out their orders, d'Artagnan shot Jacqueline a combined look of bothered admiration. "Dear, remind me to have a little talk with you about your forward behavior with strange men."
She scrunched her face and dealt him a perturbed glance, but ironically felt relieved to see his cavalier attitude return. She had to admit, the man was in his element when he was in action. Quickly, she gathered the port master's shed clothing and pulled it into a bundle. Scanning the room, she sought a place to convert her appearance.
"You two keep your eyes on me," d'Artagnan commanded the captive men, while Jacqueline went to a private corner in the back and changed. Keeping a raised sword on his charge, and an interested eye on his wife's undressing, he concurrently rummaged through the dock manifests on the master's desk. Finding what he was looking for, he patiently waited for his partner in crime to don her borrowed clothes. As a last act, he gagged the men before exiting through the back door with his spurious male sailing partner.
Slipping down to the dock, Jacqueline slung a duffel bag with her dress in it over her shoulder and pulled her hair back in a queue. As an afterthought, she stuffed her cross pendant on the inside of her clothing out of sight. In her hastiness to hone her male appearance, she wanted to remove any outward sign of her femininity. 'Temporarily,' she told herself. As much as she had come to feel at home in men's pants, she much preferred the soft fabric in the dresses she rightfully wore as a Viscompte's wife. To assure she had women's clothing to wear when they arrived at where ever they were going, she had stuffed them in a sack she found lying in the port house.
"There!" he said, pointing out a boat in a slip. "The Vestige." A wide grin swept over his face as he looked at his wife. Events apparently were unfolding as planned. The docking manifests had led him directly to the correct slip without searching the entire port by foot.
As he had stated, Jacqueline peered to see the name 'Vestige' written on the side of a small sailing vessel. "Now, all we have to do is get ourselves down there and shove off." She said lightly, but her mannerisms betrayed her doubt that it would be that simple.
Already on the dock with only a short distance to go, the couple heard a shout from behind and turned to see a half-shackled port guard frantically waving for the attention of his comrades. He had somehow managed to get himself partially free from his cuffs, and dragged the rest with him. "All right, so maybe it won't be that easy," d'Artagnan stated. He clenched his teeth and picked up their already rushed pace. It was only a matter of time before they were spotted. "My dear—" he suddenly stopped and pulled her between two crates "—I don't believe we're going to make it to the Vestige." Not far ahead of them—between them and their boat—was another port guard, slowly walking their way. He had been casually walking the dock, but now was focused in on the commotion at the port house.
Just then, Jacqueline felt a strange undulating movement under her feet. Her heart beat wildly at the realization of what was happening. "D'Artagnan, we're moving!" she spoke in a shrill whisper. Her jaw dropped in shock as she gaped at her husband. Panic set in. "Well, we can't just stand here, we need to do something."
"I know, I know," he chimed in frustration. He too, had noticed the sea-going motion and widening gap between the deck where they stood and the dock that led to the Vestige. He slowly looked around to assess their situation; he saw nothing but guards, everywhere. Hunkering down and pulling Jacqueline with him, he exasperated, "We're going to have to take our chances on this ship, unless we want to be spotted."
"Take our chance on this ship!" she echoed in sheer horror, squatting next to him between the crates. "What do you mean, 'take our chance'?" By this time, the young woman looked about to jump ship and put an end her rapid departure from shore.
D'Artagnan grabbed her arm firmly and held her in place. He tried reasoning with her. "This isn't a large ship, it can't be going far. Trust me." He looked back at the ship they had unknowingly hitched a ride on to size up its capabilities. At least he hoped it wouldn't be going far. Evidently, it was a cargo ship that seemed in a rush to leave port, having left much of its cargo still needing to be hoisted to the deck. That was precisely where the couple stood, on the cargo hoist. "It seems someone on this ship is in a hurry to leave after seeing all those guards come out. My guess is that someone onboard is involved in illegal activity."
"Great, just what we need!" she sounded back, not dropping a single notch in her hysterical whispering tone. "More trouble!" Her eyes still darted back and forth at the water in consideration of chancing a swim.
"Wait, Jacqueline, calm down. If they're trying to avoid authorities, then we couldn't be in a better place, could we?" he said optimistically. But, his face betrayed the typical 'd'Artagnan look' he donned when he was blindly forging risky ventures that usually backfired on him.
Not coming up with any better ideas, and realizing her opportunity to jump overboard was quickly slipping away, Jacqueline leaned her weight on the side of the crate and slid down to a surrendered sitting position. Sighing deeply, she stared out at the receding dockyard in a trance. "So I guess our plans to meet whomever it was we were going to meet, are washed out to sea," she droned in a melancholy tone.
Still in his squat position behind her, d'Artagnan looked at his wife's land-locked gaze and put a reassuring hand on her arm. "I wouldn't give up hope on them just yet. They'll come looking for us."
With sudden reanimation, she whirled on him to ask, "How would they even know to look for us? You didn't even tell Siroc and Ramon where we were going. Who's going to find these…people, whoever they are, and tell them we're on a ship…that we don't even know where it's going?" her voice became strained and her face lined with tension. The thought that he had told no one, not even her, what the mysterious note from Duval meant, angered her. And now, she felt his reluctance had cost them any chance of recovery.
Rubbing his hands up and down her sleeved arms to calm her nerves, d'Artagnan reminded her, "You're forgetting that Captain Duval knew where we were heading." He glanced seaward, as if choosing carefully the words to tell her; deciding, he met her eyes. "And knowing the captain, he's already sent a message ahead to inform them we were on our way. When we don't show up, they're bound to come after us."
An incredulous Jacqueline stared at her husband in bafflement. "Just like that," she said. "You're sure of that?"
Saying nothing, but pushing his bottom lip out, he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, there was nothing wrong with his logic.
A displeased and confused woman fidgeted in his hold. Sensing there was still much of the puzzle she was missing she pushed him away and pouted. "You keep saying, 'they.' What's the big secret? Who are these people? And why do you feel that you can't even tell me?" She crossed her arms, feeling the hurt that he had excluded her from something as important as this. Didn't he trust her?
Gathering himself on how to bring her more fully into his withheld knowledge, he turned to clench the ribs on the crate they were wedged between with his gloved hands. Again, his gaze met the sea. Sighing to relieve his own pent-up tension, he finally let out a pitiful laugh. "These people—" he shot her a rustled up look "—these scoundrels that I'm being so protective of, are none other than my uncles."
"Your uncles?" Jacqueline's face contorted in even greater confusion.
"Uncles," flatly repeated the surrendering informant, who now leaned his full weight back on the wooden box separating him from the sea.
"Uncles." she softly restated, still sounding somewhat perplexed to whom he exactly alluded to, but having a growing idea.
All doubt of their mysterious identity being removed when he spoke their names, "Aramis, Porthos and Athos." While he looked relieved to have shared their identity with Jacqueline, d'Artagnan's countenance hinted that he was relaying much more to her than their names. There was a wealth of history that only having grown up with the famous men could account for behind those lively brown eyes of his.
Jacqueline's mouth slowly opened as the realization hit her that she had been about to meet the famed Musketeers her husband casually referred to as 'uncles.' The stunned woman recalled now how odd she thought it was that the man she married rarely mentioned these men he had grown up with. She had just assumed he avoided the topic on the same grounds he disliked talk of his father—their stories were stale to him. Yet, at Louis' coronation, it had bothered her that the famous three had been missing. But she had been preoccupied with her own impending acquittal and had never asked him why.
Her thoughts returned to the present. Were the three men in hiding? Had they fallen to hard times, or were they at odds with the throne of France? So many questions ran through Jacqueline's mind in regards to these legendary men. D'Artagnan had referred to them as scoundrels. But why had her husband been so hesitant to breach the subject, even now? His wife had not even suspected he knew of their whereabouts, but Duval's note supported otherwise. Evidently, there were more secrets this man kept than hers. Would she be asking him to breach an oath in wanting him to tell her about them now? They were married. Would that make any difference? It should, she believed. Jacqueline looked at him thoughtfully; unless he feared her knowing about them would jeopardize either them or her.
At that moment they felt the cargo hoist begin to jerk slowly upward. From the deck they heard a man yelling in English, saying, "Get these things aboard before we draw attention for having cargo hanging off the side of our ship. Bloody imbeciles! Aboard this ship, we are England, and these are His Majesty, King Charles II's goods. Now, get moving!"
When d'Artagnan heard the destination of their boat to be England, and the name, King Charles II, his heart stopped. He turned to look at the pale-faced woman beside him in mirrored sentiment. Right then and there, he wished he had jumped into the water and surrendered himself to the port guards along with his wife when he had his chance to.