The murderous look on Aramis' face had given him immense satisfaction.
But, as he entered the courtroom, Rochefort could only focus on how beautiful Anne looked. She was sat at the King's side, eyes cast down, hair piled neatly on her head with jewels threaded through it, and dressed in magnolia silk. The King's hand rested gently on hers, a gesture that appeared to be comforting but was ultimately rather disinterested. He seemed far more preoccupied with turning his round face a bright scarlet shade, incensed at having been kept waiting.
If she forgets the Musketeer, she will see you.
She can see me now, he rejoiced.
My angel.
She sees me.
There were twelve sat around the long rectangular table. The King and Queen occupied the central seats, Captain Treville hurriedly taking the chair on his Majesty's left. The other faces were strangers, men of law and of the church, each dressed in black robes and brandishing sharply trimmed facial hair. Rochefort took each one of their faces in through his cold blue eyes. He had no doubt that they could easily be swayed by lies, manipulated to the point of appearing ludicrous. Their presence was ridiculous to him anyway.
Why should the church cast judgement upon me when God forsook me long ago?
The faces to his right, a collection of witnesses who had come to give testimony, would never be influenced by his fabrications., no matter how convincing. They'd seen his deeds first hand. Constance Bonacieux, who cradled the dauphin, clearly desperate to bring him to justice over Lemay's beheading. Vargas, who only wanted to save his own neck in the hope of returning to Spain. And four Musketeers, with various vendettas against him.
Tried to execute his mistress.
Tried to execute his friend.
Tried to execute his queen.
Tried to execute him.
And each one was waiting for their chance to take a slice at his throat, to add a knot to his noose, to throw a handful of dirt into his undoubtedly pre-prepared grave.
He stood in front of all them, flanked by guards on either side.
No chair, he noted.
Evidently, they expect this to be short.
"I do not appreciate being kept waiting." Louis rebuked, resolve already weakening a little at the sight of the prisoner.
"My apologies, your Majesty," the Comte drawled, bowing, "Your Musketeers choose to believe they are efficient in all respects, including timekeeping and navigation of the streets of Paris. Unfortunately, they lack the necessary skills to competently achieve anything besides managing to seduce married women, whilst still looking like the rear end of a Béarnais nag."
Treville's jaw clenched from the insult.
"I am well aware of my Musketeer's shortcomings, Rochefort. And Captain Treville has been informed that punctuality is most important to his King and any lapse shall not be forgiven twice."
"Indeed, Sire." Treville yielded, not removing his unforgiving gaze from Rochefort.
"Now, let us get on with this horrid business. To straighten out any and all misdeeds. " Louis gestured to his right, towards the man at the furthest end of the table, who stood grimly.
"Monsieur Lévesque, will you please read the charges?"
The man was tall and lean, bearing a frame that was not dissimilar to the shape the Cardinal once held. However, his face was not wrinkled with time. He was around 30, with dark skin and wavy hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. His eyes were icy blue, startlingly so. They seemed to cast light across the room, as lightning does in the night sky.
When he spoke, his voice was gruff and low.
"Comte de Rochefort. You stand before God and your King charged with treason of the highest form."
He took a piece of parchment from the gentleman sat beside him and unrolled it.
"These charges include, but are not limited to, the following. Conspiring against the French crown, as an agent of the Spanish King. The assault and attempted rape of her Majesty, Queen Anne of Austria. The attempt to unlawfully execute her Majesty, a task reserved only for those set down in the legally binding death warrant. The poisoning of his Majesty, King Louis XIII of France, through manipulation of the Lady Marguerite. The unauthorised execution of his Majesty's chief physician, Lemay, without a formal trial."
So they decided to pay attention to the adulteress' whining after all, Rochefort sneered, as the list continued.
"The assassination of Perales, ambassador to Spain, in a conspiracy to fracture already unstable relations. The deceit and emotional manipulation of his Majesty, in an attempt to gain power. And the fabrication and spreading of slanderous lies concerning the dauphin's legitimacy and her Majesty's fidelity."
Lévesque folded the parchment sharply and raised his eyes to stare intently at Rochefort, who suddenly felt shaken.
Those eyes…
I have seen them before.
"The penalty for a guilty verdict on any charge is death."
After a brief pause, the man bowed to the king and took his seat again, movements fluid and swift. Rochefort could not fight the feeling that this was no ordinary lawman. He could not quite decide whether it was an overwhelming sense that he would be hard to deceive, to outwit, or whether his concerning familiarity would somehow prove to be a threat.
How could I possibly recognise him, he chastised?
Focus on the matter at hand.
Think of Anne.
She is the reason why you fought then.
Why you fight now.
She was sat so silently, so demurely, but Rochefort imagined what lay under her gown, crushed under her corset and hidden under petticoats. Would she make a passionate lover? The unassuming ones are often better…and if Aramis is willing to die for her, she must be so… so… irresistible. He could not contain his hunger for the moment when she would finally give her body to him.
"Do you understand the charges, Rochefort?" Louis had noticed that the Comte's eyes had glazed over slightly as he had become lost in his thoughts.
Rochefort nodded, returning to the room.
"They are… painfully transparent, your Majesty. I only hope that I can convince you that they are lies, and nothing more."
He heard Athos huff with disgust.
Louis looked grim.
"I very much hope so too. Bring forth the Bible, Archbishop."
A large leather bound Bible was presented to him by a feeble old man, newly appointed, and Rochefort gingerly placed his hand on top of it. He wondered whether his skin would burn at the touch of it, the wrath of God answering the prayers of the faithful Aramis.
"By taking this solemn oath, you swear that you will withhold no truths and speak no lies, in sight of Almighty God, who will damn your immortal soul should you break this vow. Do you so swear?"
"I swear." He announced through gritted teeth.
The elderly man leant in a little.
"The scaffold is a terrible place, sir… but Hell is unimaginable." the Archbishop murmured, "Be cautious about what you say." And he shuffled back to his seat, lugging the book in his arms.
I have already seen Hell, old man, the Comte replied silently.
There is no torture Satan could inflict on me that compares to the sight of Anne in another's arms.
"We will take a brief opening statement from the defendant and the victim, before advancing onto the witness' cross examinations. His Majesty reserves the right to pass judgement at any time should he feel that the charges be proven true or false." Lévesque explained.
Rochefort took very little comfort in that system, remembering the King's history of temper tantrums and, quite frankly, stupid decisions.
"Will her Majesty please come before the court?"
The prisoner felt himself be pushed to the side of the room by the guards behind him, to make way for the queen. One of them boisterously grabbed his arm. Anne stood elegantly and proceeded to start the long walk around the table. A young servant rushed over with an ornate chair, but she refused it with smile and a gentle wave of her hand. As she reached the spot which Rochefort had occupied just moments before, she curtsied to her husband, bowing her head and observing all formalities.
Rochefort stared at the porcelain skin on the back of her neck. How cold his garrotte must have felt against it. He was surprised that she hadn't cracked and shattered, like the dolls she used to have back in Spain.
"I address this court," she began, "not only as your queen, but as a victim of Rochefort's crimes. He was once someone I considered to be a friend and a very dear one at that. But I have seen that his intentions were never honourable, that his attentions and affections towards me far exceeded those which are appropriate between queen and subject."
Her voice wavered a little with her next words.
"Between student and tutor."
There was a slight stir amongst the jury, who seemed shocked at this suggestion. Anne did not seem perturbed by this, instead continuing with poise and a sharp edge to her voice.
"This man has not only threatened my life, but those of my husband, your King, of my son, your future King, and of some of the most loyal patriots France has ever known." She cast a glance at the witness box, "At least two innocent lives were cruelly taken as a consequence of his treachery. I urge you to not let any more be lost by his hand."
Rochefort could see Aramis staring admirably at her.
"If France's courts are truly committed to upholding justice, and if you wish to show Spain that invasion, even on the smallest scale, is unacceptable, then make an example of this traitor."
She swivelled around to look directly at him for the first time since he had entered the room and he felt his stomach jump with anticipation. Her wrath made her even more beautiful.
"Show him no mercy. For he would show you none."
Lévesque nodded graciously.
"What say you, Rochefort, in response?"
He yanked himself free from the guard's firm grip and swanned into the centre of the room again, standing simply metres away from the queen. He saw her step away anxiously and heard concerned shuffling from where the Musketeers were sat. He took a moment to prepare himself, resting his weight on his right leg, leaning casually to one side, unaccustomed to not having his sword hanging by his left. The chains were starting to feel heavy around his wrists.
"I have been a servant of France for many years. I served his Eminence, the late Cardinal Richelieu before performing my duties at his Majesty's side and I had every intention of doing so loyally and resolutely, until my last breath."
The first lie.
It had come so easily, just as every lie before it had. He wondered if there had ever been a time when he had not so nonchalantly twisted the truth.
If there was, he could not remember it.
"So you deny the charges?"
"Wholeheartedly. It deals me great insult to have my honour besmirched in such a way as accusations of treason."
d'Artagnan guffawed from behind him.
Rochefort shot a foul look over his shoulder and continued.
"When I entered into the Cardinal's service, I swore an oath of fealty to him and to the crown. I upheld that promise even when I had been left to die, alone and desperate in a Spanish prison. Through every flogging, every branding, every torture that was inflicted upon me, I collected information that would be of use to your Majesty. As I proved upon my return to France, you will recollect."
"That is so." Louis confirmed to the other gentlemen, who noted it down on their papers.
"Bearing that in mind, I ask your Majesty to see reason. Why should a dedicated patriot such as myself see fit to abandon all sense of morality, all sense of duty, and spy for the Spanish King? A King who seeks to destroy the country I love?"
This had been well rehearsed, the words finely crafted and carefully selected. He stood, simply an actor, playing his audience for the fools they truly were.
And he hoped the final line would linger in Anne's mind for years to come.
"To spy, one has to have nothing to live for. I can assure you Sire…"
He bowed his head and, for once in his deceitful life, spoke from his heart.
"I have everything to live for."
There were a few moments of reverent silence. Louis' usually joyful face screwed up in deep thought, as he considered the statements he had just witnessed. He tapped his fingers against the oak table, as if the first question to be asked was ingrained somewhere in the wood. Just as Rochefort was getting a little impatient, and was beginning to wonder if he should resume speaking, the King posed his first enquiry.
"If none of these charges are warranted…why is there such a collection of witnesses who state otherwise?"
The time had come sooner than he had anticipated.
"Because, your Majesty…" He paused for dramatic effect, pretending to search for the strength to bring such terrible news, "…because I believe there to be a conspiracy afoot within court. A network of spies embedded so deeply within the palace that it only came to my attention when I was performing the Cardinal's work in Spain."
Muttering erupted around the room, doubts and denials.
"I do not understand…" Louis spoke weakly.
"My point is that I am no spy, your Majesty. But there are many within the royal court."
He trembled with the notion of what he was about to do.
"And… there is one who governs them all."
"Name him!" Louis stood, chair scraping back along the floor with a painful screech, "If it is not you who is the spy, then unmask this traitor!"
Slowly, Rochefort turned to look at Aramis, who held a defiant expression on his face, bracing himself for this new accusation. So stupid, he thought. Musketeers really do defy all belief when it comes to how simple minded and self-obsessed they are. Merely brawn, all muscle and moustaches, with no brains to speak of. Three days to prepare and he sits there, ready to receive any blows that I could deal. Ready to die in shame for the sake of his animalistic lusts.
I hope he suffers, a thousand times more than I ever suffered in Spain, when he sees what he has done.
"I do believe that you already know their name quite well."
The Comte looked back at the desperate king and pointed definitively with his shackled hands.
"Would you not agree, Anne?"