CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Henrietta Maria's party had made good progress. The retinue had stopped at the fine houses of local dignitaries on two occasions and had passed quiet evenings, emerging on both mornings well fed and refreshed.
Their party was large, comprising two coaches plus fifteen Red Guard, but it was an honour for anyone of any standing in the community to entertain the King's sister and Cardinal Richelieu, not to mention the Captain of the King's Musketeers and an English Knight of the Realm.
Despite the cost of entertaining royalty as they travelled the land, there was never a shortage of those who would offer accommodation, sometimes at very short notice, in exchange for the kudos it afforded amongst those seeking social enhancement.
Ahead of them now lay the Forest du Brotonne, a remnant of the vast primeval forest that once covered the area that would take most of the day to pass through.
The day had dawned with grey clouds threatening rain, but as the morning wore on, a breeze had blown up and the clouds had passed over, allowing blue skies to emerge.
The two coaches rumbled noisily along, following the wide dusty roadway leading to the forest entrance, made more disagreeable by the number of horses kicking up even more dust, which filtered through the windowless doors of the coaches.
In the first coach, the Cardinal sat with Henrietta Maria. He had not wasted his time in her company, as she had some influence with her capricious brother. Although she was younger than Louis, she was the daughter of Marie de Medici and had inherited her mother's strong will, and would no doubt be a formidable force as she grew older.
As Queen Consort of England, Scotland and Ireland as the wife of King Charles I, she would, if blessed, bear future Kings of England and her own future with her adopted subjects would be secure.
Richelieu sought to strengthen France, and any allegiances he could forge would further his ambitions and secure France's role at the heart of Europe. As a daughter of France, she would be a good ally. He did not discuss politics with her, however. He took a different route. She had a strong interest in the arts, and her patronage of various activities was one of the ways in which she tried to shape English court events. He therefore took the opportunity to indulge her with discussions on her favourite Italian painters.
Soon the road ahead flowed into the long archway of tall beech trees, which disappeared into the distance; signalling the majestic entrance to the forest. Shafts of sunlight swept down through the trees to the forest floor, casting dappled light upon the tree trunks, enhancing the cathedral-like image.
Ahead lay a wide crossroad; enclosed by trees hugging the edges of the roads, but a clear sign that a decision needed to be taken here.
In the second coach, Elizabeth Cromwell had made conversation with Captain Treville, sitting opposite her, throughout the morning. She was well trained in making polite commentary without really saying anything, but it had passed the time for both of them. Sir Edmund Temple sat next to her, and she had felt his presence and had answered when spoken to, but Treville had noticed that she had not initiated any conversation with him, nor looked him in the eye.
The coach began to slow, until it finally stopped, the horses stamping their feet at their sudden change of pace.
The natural noises of the forest now assailed them.
In the otherwise quiet that ensued, Treville put his head out of the door, and saw that ahead, the Queen's coach had also stopped. Richelieu had stepped out of the coach, his cloak held tightly around him. He was now in close discussion with the captain of his Red Guard; whose men were now lining up along the west side of the crossroad.
Telling his travelling companions to remain seated, Treville alighted from the coach and walked up the road towards the first coach; Richelieu finished his discussion with his Captain, and turned toward him. He did not look pleased.
In the second coach, Edmund Temple turned to look at Elizabeth Cromwell in confusion.
"What is going on?" he hissed, leaning toward her and grabbing her arm.
She returned his gaze, triumphant.
"Her Majesty wishes to visit her cousin at the Chateau de Saint-Paterne," she replied.
Sir Edmund gaped at her.
"Why did you not tell me this!" he hissed in her face, increasing his grip on her arm. He was shaking with rage.
She looked at him defiantly, but did not answer, nor attempt to pull herself free. He released his hold on her and opened the coach door, looking toward the Queen's coach. He was in time to see it disappear on the road to the left, together with Richelieu and his Red Guard, en route to an apparent new destination.
He watched as Treville turned and stomped back along the path, his head down and his hand holding tight onto the hilt of the sword hanging at his side. Sir Edmund sat back as the coach door was pulled open and Treville threw himself back into the coach.
"What is going on?" Temple asked again, frowning at Treville.
"It appears there is to be a detour. We are to carry on to the Lodge, and you will both meet up with the royal party on the other side of the Forest tomorrow."
"And what of you?" Sir Edmund demanded.
Treville was regaining his composure now.
"My men should be there on our arrival, having done their work. We will return to Paris and you both will continue with the Red Guard escort to Le Havre."
Treville realised he was disconcerted by the sudden change in schedule, but not altogether annoyed as his responsibility would soon be over. He was keen to hear his men's reports and hoped any threat to the Queen Consort would be much lessened, if not eradicated completely.
Treville gave the coachman the signal and Edmund Temple, Elizabeth Cromwell and the coach moved off on the road north, toward the Lodge.
Sir Edmund Temple was white.
Elizabeth Cromwell was pale, but not unhappy; taking solace in the fact that she had finally bettered him, and done her duty.
She had no doubt though, that she would soon have to face his wrath.
Feeling Treville's eyes on her, she raised her head and looked directly at him, sitting opposite her. He was struck by the defiance in her pale blue eyes, although he seemed to feel it was not directed at him.
Something had passed between these two.
Something that made him very uneasy.
Just over an hour later, Treville caught his first sight of the Royal Hunting Lodge.
To be continued ...
oOo
A/N: A tercio was a Spanish infantry organisation during the time that Habsburg Spain dominated Europe; made up of pikemen, swordsmen and arquebusiers or musketeers. Tercio companies dominated European battlefields in the sixteenth century and the first half of the seventeenth century. There were many "old soldiers" (veterans) in the units and they were nurtured by the lower nobility of Spain, making them the best infantry in Europe for a century and a half. They were called tercios, meaning "thirds," because they were, in theory, made up originally of 1/3 pikemen, 1/3 swordsmen and 1/3 firearms. They were made up of volunteers and built up around a core of professional soldiers and were highly trained.
King Phillip II of Spain raised a tercio of Catalan criminals to fight in Flanders, a trend he continued with most Catalan criminals for the rest of his reign. By the latter half of the 16th century a large proportion of the Spanish army was entirely composed of tercio units.