"Fetch my driver, quickly!" Queen Anne ordered one of her Ladies-in-waiting. "I want my carriage ready as soon as I finish this letter." The queen rushed to her writing desk in her bed chamber to write the cryptic letter; she thought hard of how to carefully word the message.
"I will address this letter to my brother, in the event of it being seized by His Majesty's hired goons. I shall include nothing to incriminate either myself or Ferdinand in it," the queen whispered to herself as she began writing.
My Dear Brother, Ferdinand,
I deeply apologize, my dear brother, but your visit to Paris will have to wait. We can reschedule a visit for another time when it is more convenient.
Until we see each other again.
Your Most Loving Sister,
Anne
"Maria, please, go at once and find Pierre," the queen asked her most trusted Lady-in-waiting. "I need him to take this letter to Château de Blois for Duke Gaston. I will drop it off at the abbey, in my secret box; Pierre will know where to look for it. Go quickly!"
Anne rushed outside to the waiting carriage with the letter hidden in her stocking. "I must get to Val-de-Grâce, quickly," the queen ordered the carriage driver.
As the carriage pulled away from the palace, someone was watching from behind an arched pillar in the shadows of the breezeway; he waited to follow on horseback as soon as the carriage departed. Comte de Rochefort followed behind the carriage a safe distance away, staying out of sight by blending in with the movement of the carriages and horses on the dusty, busy streets of Paris.
Rochefort kicked his horse into a gallop as the carriage turned a corner then disappeared from sight. His heart raced as he frantically searched for the carriage carrying the queen; his eyes scanned every vehicle until they rested on the familiar royal carriage. He sighed with relief as he once again assumed his position behind the queen, silently stalking Her Majesty.
The villainous man grinned with satisfaction as he once again kept pace with the carriage until it arrived in front of the exquisite abbey she so favored. The queen rushed from the carriage to run up the stone steps of the abbey, through the large double doors and into the unfinished chapel. She paused, checking in all directions for anyone who might recognize her before she continued on, but there was no one.
The unfinished interior was scattered with building materials and equipment; the clutter defied the grandeur the queen envisioned for the Val-de-Grâce. Tall stone arches aligned both sides of the chapel and rose grandly to a massively high ceiling. The unpainted dome appeared dull and uninspiring as it had yet to be graced with the beauty of an artist's brush. The many rectangular windows encircling the dome allowed the sunshine to pour in, but it only highlighted the empty canvas of the dome's ceiling.
At the front of the chapel were steps leading to a half-circle shaped chancel; upon which sat an empty platform, void of any reverent display—even an altar. Six marble pedestals stood vacant of the pillars that would one day enclose the altar in a circle of grandeur; the pillars would one day take the eyes of the worshipper upward to ornate high ceilings.
Queen Anne rushed to the front of the chapel then exited to the right of the chancel through an arched doorway to the sacristy, where the worship supplies would be stored. She pulled out a drawer of the elegantly carved wooden repository to retrieve her pewter jewelry box; she hugged it close to her chest as she sat down on a nearby chair.
The queen unfastened from her neck a long silver necklace holding a tiny key. She placed the key inside the lock of the pewter box and turned it until she heard the familiar click; she then opened the lid and placed her secret letter inside. "Please, Pierre, be quick about delivering this letter to Duke Gaston, before it's too late." Queen Anne quickly closed the box, locked it and then replaced it inside the drawer of the repository.
Checking to make sure that she wasn't followed, Anne rushed through the chapel to the outer doors and then down the steps to her waiting carriage. "Let us quickly return to the palace," the queen ordered, "before the king realizes that I am missing."
As the carriage pulled away from the stately abbey, Rochefort slipped out of hiding from the small room to the left of the chancel. The scheming man began to make his way across the chapel when he heard voices coming from outside the abbey doors.
Rochefort quickly ducked back into the small room where he watched a hooded man walk toward the sacristy then disappear into the room for several minutes. Returning from the room, the cloaked man rushed through the chapel then stopped at the double doors to peek outside; he scanned the vicinity, looking for suspicious loiterers or anyone watching for his escape. Satisfied, Pierre ran down the stairs to his waiting horse.
The cloaked man raced away, down the dirty streets of Paris on a desperate mission of which only he and the queen knew. Rochefort cursed the speed of the unknown man as he rushed from the abbey to his hidden horse then gave chase after the mysterious courier.
If Rochefort could catch up to the cloaked man and retrieve the queen's secret letter to Duke Gaston, the First Minister would finally have the damning evidence required to prove charges of treason against Queen Anne and the duke. Ah, Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand may yet prove to be the perfect unintended ally in bringing Spain and France into war, forced by a most glorious web of conspirators planning to remove the imbecile King Louis XIII from his throne.
Royal Palace:
"I want my military advisors summoned here at once," King Louis ordered the Royal Officer of the Court. "And I want my First Minister, Rochefort here; find him now!"
"Yes, Your Majesty," the Royal Officer said, bowing.
"And get Captain Tréville back in here!" The king yelled after the retreating Royal Officer.
"Yes, Your Majesty!" The man bowed again then made a hasty retreat.
"Oh, my entire day is simply ruined," Louis complained. "I was to go hunting today but now my brother and my wife, of all people, have interfered with my plans," he whined. "They shall both be punished severely for ruining my much-anticipated hunting trip!"
Later, Council Chamber:
"Your Majesty, if you want to protect France from an invasion, from whence you haven't an idea where said forces may come, might I suggest that you send multiple scouts out to watch the borders in all four directions, Sire." The Royal Advisor pointed to the map of France then began listing key points where to send the reconnaissance scout teams.
"From the west, you will want to watch for ships carrying troops into the most likely port cities, Le Havre and La Rochelle. From the north, you can send scouts to the cities of Lille and Maubeuge; and I would also have scouts as backup in Saint-Quentin and Reims to catch troop movements moving south."
"If the troops are not discovered until they have reached Reims, it would already be too late for defensive action to be taken," Captain Tréville stated as he pointed to the map shaking his head. "Reims would be cutting it very close—too close, actually."
"Indeed it would, Captain," the advisor agreed. "But remember, the scouts located in Reims are simply there as backup."
"France has been invaded previously from the north with troops coming down from Belgium." Tréville stood resolutely, crossing his arms. "It would be good to have several scouts watching the northern border very closely."
"Agreed, Captain," the advisor nodded as he continued studying the map. "We can send scouts to keep an eye open for troops arriving from Germany in the cities of Haguenau and Strasbourg. As for the rest of the eastern border, I will return to it in a moment."
"What about the southern border?" King Louis asked, tapping his fingers on the map. "My brother-in-law, Ferdinand, may bring troops with him from Spain."
"Yes, Your Majesty, it is possible Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand may bring with him an army from Spain; I believe it not very likely, Sire, as it's too obvious." The advisor studied the map, his brow furrowed in concentration. "However, they might try marching troops through the Pyrénéees passes into Lourdes, so we'll put scouts there. Also, they might try the passes into Carbonne, and possibly, Carcassonne."
"Indeed, Advisor," Captain Tréville nodded. "If troops move from the south, Toulouse would be the perfect rendezvous point for their army to meet with organizational leaders before resupplying the troops and marching north to Paris."
"Yes, we will watch the southern border very closely, Captain." The Royal Advisor turned to his assistant who was busy writing notes. "Are you taking all these points of interest down?"
"Oui, Monsieur," the man nodded, pointing to his list.
"Very good. . ." the advisor's voice trailed as he studied the eastern border on the map. "For some reason, I keep coming back to this eastern border." The advisor stroked his beard as he stared at the map, deep in thought.
"Do you think they might bring troops over the Alps on the Italian border?" Tréville asked. "If I were bringing invading troops into France, where the French army would least expect, as it is the least defensible route, I would choose Italy."
"That is exactly what I was thinking, Captain." The advisor's eyes lit up as his own worries were voiced by another. "I would imagine the invading army is prepared to meet trouble along the southern border where it is expected; in the east, however, no one is expecting troop movements from the east."
"At least not since the Treaty of Monçon, which Cardinal Richelieu signed to give equal rights for passage to both Spain and France; neither side has attempted to use the Valtelline Pass since." Captain Tréville raised his eyebrows as he studied the map. "This may be the place where Spain might launch an unexpected invasion; yet it would be unwise to neglect the southern border…" the captain's voice trailed as he studied the map intently.
"What are you thinking, Captain?" the Royal Advisor asked. The man took notice of the deep frown on the captain's face as he stared at the map.
"Your Majesty, it is quite possible that they may try an assault on both fronts, along the southern border and along the eastern border." Captain Tréville pointed to the most likely routes on the map. "If that happens, Sire, we had better be prepared to stop them… or they just might succeed in reaching Paris."
Château de Blois:
Athos tugged his tired eyes open then blinked repeatedly at seeing nothing but white. Confused, he wondered if he died and his spirit had awakened on a cloud. Perhaps he made it to Heaven after all—but surely not. Of all places for his tormented soul to awaken, Heaven was the least likely.
His ears perked at voices in the distance sounding muffled and strange, like whispers behind closed doors. With great effort, Athos raised a shaky hand to touch the white cloud before him. He watched with amazement as the cloud rippled like waves beneath his fingers, yet the veil remained in place. The Musketeer let his hand drop, exhausted from the effort. With his momentary hopes of Heaven dashed, he closed his tired eyes. The great swordsman knew he had not awakened in Heaven.
"Athos?" Aramis called out as he removed the sheet covering the sick Musketeer. "I saw movement under here but it appears he's fallen asleep again," the medic announced, shaking his head with disappointment. "I wish he would wake up, dammit." Concern for Athos' deteriorating health was clearly evident in the deep creases on the medic's face.
"Let me 'ave at 'em." Porthos tapped the cheeks of the sleeping man. "Come on, brother, wake up. I haven't seen your green eyes glarin' at me for days now," he teased. "Pull 'em open; you've slept long 'nough."
Athos blinked as he looked around the room then settled his gaze on the man annoyingly tapping his cheek. The corners of his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile as he recognized Porthos, whose own large brown eyes were filled with anxiety and unease.
Too exhausted to hold his eyes open, Athos allowed his eyelids to slide closed. "Uh-uh, rubbish!" Porthos tapped the cheeks but with more effort. "Open those green eyes for us," he ordered.
"Tap me 'gain… 'n I'll break… your fingersss," Athos slurred. The Musketeer's slow drawl conveyed a half-hearted threat, though none took it seriously. His tired eyes remained closed, despite the tapping.
"Now there's the grumpy Athos we all know," Aramis chimed in. "At least he hasn't lost his irascible manners or his ill-temper; he always was a lousy patient," the medic quipped. The good-humored crack elicited snickers from the other two Musketeers.
Athos peeled his eyes open to glare at Aramis, who smiled with satisfaction as his comment aroused a fire within the sleepy man. The medic hoped his gentle teasing would annoy the ill Musketeer enough to snap him out of his sluggish, unresponsive state.
"Let me go… back to ssleeep," Athos yawned. "At least while I ssleepp… I don't have to lissen to your ssmart mouth." Athos watched the medic feign insult at the comment, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Well, I guess he told you, Aramis!" d'Artagnan giggled as Porthos roared with laughter.
"Poor jest…" Athos' lips curled with just the hint of a smile.
"I'll thank you not to sneer." Aramis cracked while trying to keep a straight face. "Don't encourage the man."
"Don't… need 'couragement," Athos said as his eyes closed once again. "I can keep up with the sssnide remarks…" his voice trailed as he felt the familiar tickle in his throat, knowing what was coming. He groaned then turned on his side as a fit of coughing erupted from his congested lungs.
"Dammit to hell!" Aramis cursed, seething with anger at the stubborn cough. "Where is Doctor Molyneux or Cécile?"
"We're here, Aramis," Cécile said as they rushed back into the room. Molyneux allowed Athos to remain on his side to reduce the threat of choking; the doctor shook his head with frustration as he couldn't listen to the Musketeer's lungs for all the coughing.
Athos' face reddened as the coughing stole the air from his lungs, effectively reducing his breathing to desperate gasps. Involuntary tears spilled from the corners of his tightly scrunched eyes as the seal-like barking caused his sore abdomen muscles to cramp and twist in protest.
"Cécile, we need more of the herbal tincture and another pot of boiling water," Molyneux ordered the nurse. "He needs another herbal treatment and to be enclosed back under the tent." The doctor threw an apologetic look to Aramis. "Nurse, please get the servants to help you fetch some boiling water."
Doctor Berteau entered the room and made his way to the bedside as Cécile brushed past him. "His lungs are not quite ready for unmedicated air," the older doctor said, grimly. "Unfortunately, he will require perhaps several more treatments to clear his lungs of the congestion causing this cough."
The older doctor turned Athos onto his stomach then allowed his head to dangle over the edge; the doctor drew his hand back and slapped the Musketeer hard on the back again and again to clear his lungs. The phlegm clogging his lungs was coughed up and spit onto the floor, allowing Athos to breathe in unrestricted gulps of air.
"Let's get him propped up against these pillows so he can breathe easier and get some rest." The two doctors turned Athos as Aramis gave up three of his own pillows to help keep his friend upright.
"I can bring in some more pillows; we have plenty." Nurse Maria left to gather more pillows for all of the patients.
After a few minutes, Cécile and the servants brought in a large pot of boiling water with two vials of peppermint oil and lungwort tincture, as well as ground licorice root to add to the pot.
"Doctors, I had forgotten that I had licorice root in my bag so I will add it also to the herbal treatment," the nurse informed the physicians. "In addition, I brought hot water to make licorice root and honey tea to further ease his coughing and soothe his sore throat." Cécile prepared the tea then allowed Athos to slowly sip on it until he had his fill.
"Now, we'll let him sleep as this steam does its work." Doctor Berteau pulled back the sheet to cover Athos.
Athos turned to Aramis and shot an anxious glance his way. The medic put up his hand to stop the doctor from covering his friend then gently squeezed Athos' hand reassuringly. "I'll be right here beside you; I'm not going anywhere. You won't be able to see me but you'll feel my hand—I won't let go." Aramis nodded the go ahead to cover the sick man.
Athos closed his tired eyes as the sheet was pulled over him; he allowed the steam bath to clear his obstructed lungs as he breathed in deeply. His mouth turned upward with a smile as he felt the gentle squeeze of Aramis' hand. I might not be in Heaven, but this is very close. Athos gave a light squeeze back to the hand tightly gripping his own.
Athos held onto the hand, clinging desperately for the only contact he had while inside his white cloud of steam, smelling of licorice and peppermint. Aramis gently massaged the tense hand with his thumb until the grip loosened and then went completely lax as Athos fell into a medicated sleep.
The medic leaned back against his new pile of pillows, making himself comfortable as he turned toward the tent. He curled his fingers around the limp hand and pulled it close to his chest; he held the hand against his beating heart as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
A/N:
Val-de-Grâce abbey was founded by Queen Anne of Austria in 1621. Anne suggested that an abbey be established with a suitable church so construction began but proceeded slowly, particularly after Queen Anne fell out of favor with the King. The estranged queen spent time at the abbey, always watched by Cardinal Richelieu. Anne did indeed use a secret box inside the abbey with an elaborate system of transmitting letters to her brother, Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand; as well as letters to the Duke of Buckingham and Gaston, Duke d'Orléans.
In gratitude for her son, Louis XIV, Anne pressed forward with the construction of an entirely rebuilt church and monastery with instructions, "to spare no expense and to leave an eternal mark of her piety." The church was finally finished in 1667 after 46 years of construction. The extended abbey became a military hospital in 1796 while the "chapel" now contains a museum and library of the Army Health Service, the school of the Val-de-Grâce, and hospital staff offices.
Licorice root has for the respiratory system a soothing and healing action that reduces irritation and inflammation; and it has an expectorant effect, useful in irritating coughs, asthma and chest infections. It also has an aspirin-like action and is helpful in relieving fevers and soothing pain such as headaches. Its anti-allergenic effect is very useful for hay fever, allergic rhinitis, conjunctivitis and bronchial asthma. Licorice eases congestion and coughing by helping to loosen and thin mucus in the airways; this makes a cough more "productive," bringing up phlegm and other mucus bits. Licorice also helps to relax bronchial spasms. The herb also soothes soreness in the throat and fights viruses that cause respiratory illnesses and an overproduction of mucus.