CHAPTER THREE
The Procession to Notre Dame
The twin-towered Notre-Dame de Paris; "Our Lady of Paris" on the lle de la Cite was an imposing cathedral, housing some of the most important Catholic relics. It dated back to the twelfth century, its construction commencing during the reign of Louis VII. The south tower housed the cathedral's impressive bell, "Emmanuel," weighing twenty eight thousand pounds.
The imposing flying buttresses on either side of the building were included after construction began. As the walls grew higher, they had pushed outward, needing extra support.
The three magnificent rose windows, which shone like jewels and were themed on human life, were added over the west door and in the north and south transept between 1210 and 1220. Construction of the cathedral was completed some three hundred years after it began, around 1345.
The magnificent stained glass windows were an example of thirteenth century Gothic art.
On the morning of the remembrance service,sixteen Musketeers arrived at the Palace to escort the royal party through the streets of Paris on the short journey to the Cathedral.
Captain Treville ensured that the sixteen were the best of the best.
There would be two coaches, one for the King, Queen Anne and Queen Consort , Henrietta Maria. The second one would take Sir Edmund Temple and Captain Treville.
As Sir Edmund had requested a visit to the Musketeer Garrison, and as he had shown no interest in riding, it made sense to go by coach with Treville after the service, once their Majesties had been escorted back to the Palace.
Richelieu was overseeing the construction of a new residence for himself in the centre of Paris and prior to the service he had proceeded ahead of the procession to personally greet the royal party on the steps of the cathedral.
The streets were noisy and crowded. Not all were supportive of the Monarchy or the Cardinal, who bled them dry with taxes to fund the many building projects currently underway, not to mention the profligacy of the Royal Household.
There were some bold jeers amongst those assembled along the route. The Red Guard was tasked with controlling the crowds, which they were doing with their usual enthusiasm, which did nothing for the people's mood.
The sixteen Musketeers flanked each coach; three on each side of the coach and two behind, effectively boxing each coach into a tight security ring.
"My compliments, your men are well trained, Captain," Sir Edmund said to the man sitting opposite him, as he watched the formation of the blue cloaked soldiers around him. The formation blocked his view somewhat, but it was a small price to pay for safety, they both agreed.
"They are the King's Musketeers, Sir Edmund; tasked with protecting his Majesty. They are the very best of soldiers and yes, highly trained," Treville said proudly.
"They certainly look the part, Captain," Temple replied.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash, and two of the horses behind the second coach shied, momentarily panicked. Treville put his head outside the windowless door of the coach but they were quickly brought back into formation. It was merely some copper pans that had been knocked from a nearby market stall by the jostle of the crowd.
Treville caught Athos's eye and nodded. Nerves were taught, but this was nothing they had not trained for.
The bells of Notre Dame were peeling as the royal party drew to the steps and alighted from their coach. The second coach pulled aside some way to the left, allowing the people a full view of the Royal Family.
The King was resplendent in black lace and satin, with white stockings and black leather shoes with black bows. His Queen wore a navy gown, embossed with silver thread with a silver grey silk panel from neckline to hem, and a wide grey lace collar. His sister, a dark green gown and cloak with matching lace trim at the collar and large billowing sleeves.
Once at the Cathedral, half the Musketeers guarded the entrance; the remainder were stationed at strategic points inside, keeping their Majesties in full view.
Aramis's sharp eyes roamed the congregation, even taking in the choirboys. Porthos guarded the west entrance doors, now closed. Athos scanned the upper balconies, his hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword.
The Musketeer's blue cloaks hid an array of weaponry held in their belts and at their backs.
The light from the stained glass windows above cast bright, multi coloured rays down to the tiled floor and across the assembled congregation, adding colour to the sombre clothes that most wore, as befitted the occasion. The only contrast being the robes of the choirboys and those of the presiding Bishop.
The Cathedral was full. The service lasted over an hour, giving full and complete remembrance to a fallen monarch. The resplendent Bishop conducted the service with gravitas and respect, as was to be expected.
Finally, as the service drew to a close, the King and Henrietta Maria each lit a tall white candle at the altar. With Queen Anne by his side, Louis then thanked the Bishop and led the procession out into the sunshine to another peel of the Cathedral's impressive bells. The bright sunshine gave welcome warmth after the coolness of the interior.
On the outer steps, Richelieu and Treville exchanged a relieved look, and Treville called his men to order. The two coaches set off once more to return to the Palace for refreshments.
Later, Sir Edmund and Treville boarded the second coach to follow the road as it wound its way back to the Garrison.
Once the coach had pulled back onto the Palace drive to make its long way to the entrance, the Musketeers relaxed and Treville put his hand through the open coach window and tapped the door twice in signal for the coach and escort to move off.
oOo
With the rest of the late afternoon ahead of them, the coach and its escort made its way along the road. The road itself was dry in the summer heat, emphasising the rumble of the coach wheels and the horses hooves. The skirting of tall trees soon appearing on their left would give some shade for the last part of the journey.
Sir Edmund appeared to be tense, his hand tightening as he held his hat on his lap. His eyes scanned the tree line, while maintaining a steady stream of polite conversation with Treville.
At the rear of the coach, Athos, Porthos and Aramis road abreast, hot, tired and hungry and looking forward to an evening meal. Captain Treville would be entertaining Sir Edmund, and had confirmed he would show him around the barracks alone, thereby dismissing them on their return. Their own evening would be free and spirits were high, now the responsibility of safeguarding the Royal Family was over.
Porthos loved the company and camaraderie of his two brothers. He had not seen Athos really laugh in the time he had known him, so when he said something and the man turned to him and, instead of a grimace, he had actually laughed, Porthos was strangely elated.
His elation was short lived though, as the first shot rang out and his brother's face turned from laughter into a roar as he wheeled his horse around, whilst at the same time drawing his sword and yelling one word;
"AMBUSH!"
Porthos would remember that brief laugh in the days to come.
oOo
Athos laughing.
It was a wonderful sight until it ended in tragedy.
At the recognition of an unexpected cry in a foreign tongue, Athos had whirled his horse around and, leaving Porthos and Aramis at the back of the line, he had charged to the front where a large group of men where now surging out of the trees. Yelling orders to the rest of the escort, who now began to draw swords and pistols; he was instantly embroiled in the defence of his men and their charge, Sir Edmund Temple.
Treville was leaning out of the door and bellowing orders at him, whilst keeping his travelling companion, Sir Edmund, inside; crouching low in his seat. The masked brigands were beginning to flow past the coach now on either side, and Treville drew his sword.
He slashed at the first man who flew past, and as his eyes followed the man, he saw Athos, who raised himself up to stand his full height in his stirrups with his sword raised high to despatch the oncoming assassin.
In the melee that followed, Treville moved from left to right inside the coach, shouting warnings to his sixteen-strong group of Musketeers. He saw Aramis on his feet engaged in a sword fight with two of the assassins and could hear Porthos bellowing at the rear of the coach. He saw at least two of his men fall to the ground.
This was not going well. They were outnumbered and the light was going as the sun was beginning to dip.
As he leaned out once more, slashing one of the men fighting with Aramis, he saw Athos take a blade slash to the neck, and when his Lieutenant raised his hand to grasp the bleeding wound, he saw him struck by a musket ball in the hip. Athos was thrown from his horse, his back slamming into the side of the coach and Treville leaned out and threw his arm around Athos's chest, momentarily halting his fall to the ground. When he could hold him no longer; mere seconds in real time, Treville allowed Athos to slide down to the ground, where he was able to throw himself beneath the coach to avoid the horse's hooves around him.
Treville could not leave the coach, as Sir Edmund was his responsibility, but it did not stop him leaning out and slashing at whoever came within his reach.
Aramis continued to flow around the coach on the ground, maiming or killing those within his reach and Porthos was giving chase to a further three.
From beneath the coach, Athos continued to press his hand to his neck, attempting to slow the loss of blood, whilst taking out the legs of another assassin who was now attempting to get into the coach on Treville's side. Suddenly there was a crash in front of him and he came face to face with a fellow Musketeer, young Loubert, who fell to the ground mortally wounded, a musket ball to his head. Loubert was staring at him in the astonishment that would precede his death, and Athos, who had not registered his own severe wound to his hip, crawled forward and reached out to grasp the boy's hand. He watched the boy's eyes grow dim as he died in front of him.
"God Dammit to Hell!" he yelled, before realising he was losing his own battle to remain conscious, aware they were being overrun and that Treville and Sir Edmund were above him in the coach, facing possible death.
As his head crashed down onto his forearm, he also briefly registered that he could do nothing more to help.
To be continued ...