Chapter Six: Risky Rendezvous
In truth, Ramón was neither as helpless as he thought, nor was his 'black out" caused at all by residual symptoms on his recent captivity under Condé's command. It was Emris' doing. Ramón had told Siroc of his encounter with Condé and the inventor brought him straight away to the ex-musketeer. Emris had long suspected there were knights of the black tabernacle among the house of Burbon, but he had never had the proof. If Louis le Condé thought the Spanish musketeer was vulnerable to that sort of command, then it only followed that it was because he had played a role in Ramón's imprisonment. The three talked it out, and Ramón agreed to keep his appointment so they could find out what the rebellious prince had to say.
Emris watched as the young musketeer threaded his way through the woods towards the rebel camp. He tried not to think about what Charles would say when he learned what he had done. The legendary d'Artagnan would see this as further proof that his former friend, Aramis, was no different than the Cardinal, using Ramón and others as tools to achieve his own ends. To De Batz, it didn't matter that the young musketeer knew the risks going in or that he had agreed that this was a priceless opportunity to gain knowledge that could change the direction of the conflict and save countless lives. And Charles would be absolutely livid with rage were he to find out about Emris's other 'tools.'
Two small shadows ghosted through the underbrush, trailing the Spanish musketeer, unnoticed. The freeborn twins, Colt and Spring were the perfect spies. They were not the only eyes and ears Emris had within the enemy camp either. His half-guard nephew, Etienne and his friends, Anton and Andie, were within easy hailing distance should the little ones get into trouble. Aramis had still been a musketeer when he realized that a few children managed to find their way into any military camp. Some were slaves; most were urchins hoping to earn a coin or two running messages, washing pots, cleaning weapons or hauling firewood. Some poor children hoped to be taken on as a servant or page once the conflict was over. Others were outright thieves, hoping to scavenge what they could from the camp or from the battlefield and bring it back to their families. All were largely ignored.
Emris used this knowledge in his spy network and had been rewarded for it many times over. The Chancellor's twin sons knew how to be unobtrusive, and their inborn gifts that came with having two blade-bound parents gave them an edge the enemy would not expect.
They were able to stay quite close to Ramón, and when he entered the tent, they easily overheard everything that went on within. The risk was there, but it was manageable. If something went terribly wrong all he would need to do is uncover his lantern, and Protector and Gift would be there in scant seconds. The enemy would have considerably more to worry about than a lone musketeer and a couple of children.
Even so, there was the possibility Condé was part of the dark order. He may be capable of searching the thoughts of others. After his experience in the dark citadel, Ramón had been concerned that his thoughts might inadvertently endanger those that were to act as his life-line. Siroc suggested that Emris use the crystal orb to encourage him to forget, at least temporarily. They found that task easily accomplished.
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Ramón felt like a plump mouse under the gaze of a hungry hawk.
"You came." Louis le Condé smiled, not sounding particularly surprised.
"Give me the sword," the Spaniard said with far more confidence then he felt.
"Give you? GIVE YOU?" The man chuckled, though the mirth in his voice did not spread to his eyes. "I don't think so."
"Then why?" the Spaniard began. And just as Siroc had earlier, Condé cut him off.
"Why did I call you here?" he asked. "Partly to see if I could…but mostly to gloat. I confess even princes are not beneath such things. But that is of no great concern, Senor de la Cruz…or do you prefer the title of Don of Montefrío?"
There was no doubt that the rebel prince was offering him a shot at getting his birthright back…but at what price? Ramon gripped his jeweled dagger and said, "I am Ramón Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz. I hold the rank of private in the royal musketeers, and I serve King Louis, the fourteenth of that name to hold the noble throne of France."
The rebel prince gave him a droll smile and made a show of applauding politely. "I find it such a pity that fine fellows like you and I attempt to cut one another's throats over such a paltry thing as allegiance. Please Private de la Cruz, take a seat…you must be famished. You are quite safe for the moment I assure you."
Ramón grit his teeth. He would sooner dine with the filthiest beggar in the streets than with this man who dared raise a hand against his king. But at this point, it was not exactly prudent to offend the man over much. There were many questions swirling around in his mind, questions only the rebel prince could answer.
Mentally, Ramon bolstered his resolve with the words, i 'Aderezas mesa delante de mí en presencia de mis angustiadores.' /i The words had given him courage in the dark of the citadel, and this situation breathed new life into them as he saw the banquet table his foe laid before him.
The young Spaniard took a deep breath and did as he was told. The chicken was every bit as delicious as he thought it would be, but he did not enjoy it. The fine roasted potatoes and beans brought back vivid images of his homeland and it took all his force of will to drive them away. He watched carefully. Everything he ate, Condé had eaten before him so there was no threat of poison. Still, his gaze kept stealing back to the sword, his grandfather's sword, his father's sword…his sword. Stolen by his uncle…apparently stolen again by Louis le Condé.
"You and your little friends have a choice to make," Louis said, toying idly with the sword, its perfectly honed blade catching in the torchlight. "My cousin and brother are even now in Paris preparing a fine welcome for your little king. But I am going south. I fought the Spanish many years, it is true, but not all Spaniards are my enemies. This blade proves it. You could have been my friend too, but you have chosen to spurn that option. Now, you must make yet another decision: Will you go to Paris and try to stop what I have waiting for the king? Or are you going to try to prevent me from meeting my allies in Spain? You haven't time for both, I am afraid. And it is only fair to tell you that the sword isn't the only thing to weigh in the balance…there is this too." The prince put his fingers to his lips and whistled.
Soldiers threw aside a curtain at the back at the pavilion and Ramón saw between them a small boy, nearly naked, bruised and battered with a slave collar around his neck. Clearly any resistance Ramón put up would mean the boy's life, but that was not necessarily enough to forestall his action. It was what the prince said next that stopped him dead in his tracks. "Marco, say hello to your big brother."
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After that brief interview, Ramón was blindly clawing his way through the foliage toward the royal camp. Marco had barely been old enough to stand when Uncle Nando sent him away. Finding him here…now…in such precarious condition nearly broke the Spaniard's heart. Condé obviously treated the boy like chattel…and Ramón wanted the upstart prince to pay dearly for the indignities his brother had been put through.
The hot blooded musketeer nearly bit his lip clean through as familial bonds warred with common sense within him. There was nothing he could do alone. Should he attempt something, he and Marco would both die and there would be no one to warn the king about the danger in Paris. It had been a difficult decision, but finally Ramón pried himself away, telling his brother that he loved him as he fled Condé's camp.
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"Where have you been?!" D'Artagnan grabbed the front of Ramón's doublet, patting him down as if to reassure himself that the Spaniard was in one piece. He seemed a bit pale but did not look injured. He sighed with relief, and then Ramon's words took him completely off guard.
"I've been a guest of Condé…if you'll believe it…I need to talk to the captains," Ramón told him, his voice quavered and what little color he had drained away at the memory.
D'Artagnan had seen his friend in shock before and didn't like the way he was looking now. It seemed the slightest breeze would knock him over. The Gascon knew he could not lend his friend strength to speak before the king and captains, but he could offer his arm as support, and did so. Together the two friends climbed the hill to the command tent.