Chaos ensued but Anne felt too numb to take it all in.
She'd just been accused of being a Spanish spy.
Accused of overseeing a clandestine network of agents within court.
Accused by a man, who in the eyes of her husband and the church, was under sacred oath.
"YOU BASTARD, YOU LYING BASTARD…!" Aramis had sprung, enraged, from his chair and was being restrained by Athos and Porthos. She'd never heard him swear before, even in the midst of battle. But now he was overcome with emotion, brow furrowed with fury, veins bulging in his neck, any traces of rationality that he had fading into the commotion.
Now is not the time to act rashly, she wanted whisper into his ear, held in his embrace.
My love, do not defend me now, for I could never defend you in such a way.
"REMOVE HIM FROM THE COURTROOM! I WILL NOT TOLERATE SUCH DISRUPTION!" Louis demanded, stamping his feet like a toddler, but no one was listening. The other gentlemen of the jury gossiped, yelled and debated, gesticulating wildly, not one of them paying their king any attention. Lévesque sat passively in his place, unnervingly still in the midst of such a riot. Those unique eyes were firmly fixated on Rochefort.
"…you cannot deny…"
"…ask the witnesses…"
"…RIDICULOUS…"
"…whoever deemed you fit to sit on the jury, sir, was…"
"…IT IS FOR HIS MAJESTY TO CONSIDER…"
"I suggest that we adjourn for the day and reassemble in the morning…" Treville was trying to suggest, but was drowned out. The kindly Captain caught Anne's eye and she could see the sorrow in them. She thought of their rendezvous, where they had discussed the arrangements of her escape, the enormity of her decision still weighing heavily on her.
"I have made my choice, Captain. And, no matter how great the cost…I must think first of my son and of France's future. Arrange what you must. I will go."
Has that time come already, so soon into proceedings, she despaired?
Why, God, do you not strike Rochefort down where he stands for lying so blatantly?
"Aramis… I would advise you to sit down and silence yourself." Athos was growling sternly, wrestling the man's musket from its holster to remove it from reach.
"I CANNOT STAND BY WHILE…" Aramis bellowed, "WHILE HE DARES TO STAND THERE AND ACCUSE HER OF…OF BEING LIKE HIM…"
"You are just making this worse… for God's sake, just once in your life, LISTEN TO ME…"
Anne could feel Rochefort staring at her, eyes empty of sanity.
He is a monster, she shuddered.
One from the deepest circle of Hell, with a tongue of silver and a heart of stone.
But be strong.
He cannot prove such an outrageous lie.
She lifted her chin and set her shoulders back, standing up to her full height, trying to ignore Rochefort's hungry look. If she was to defend herself successfully, she knew that she would have to be steadfast, regal in every respect and and appear honest to a fault. She tried to calm her beating heart, but felt it bruising as it smashed continually into her ribcage. Her stomach flipped and rumbled- she had not eaten that day, or the evening before, for nerves had lined her insides and she could barely swallow. She folded her hands in front of her, trying to disguise the fact that they were trembling, and incredibly, managed to keep her voice steady as she projected over the growing noise.
"My lords…"
The gentlemen were only half listening to her, too engrossed in indulging their need to debate each other's right to be seated at that table.
"My lords, the prisoner faces execution, a traitor's death and no doubt dreads the prospect of it as a humiliating public spectacle. Surely the court must recognise that he will use any means necessary to avoid that fate? In spite of this, what the prisoner appears to have not considered..." She saw Rochefort incline his head slightly, apprehensive,"...is that a tactic of turning the accusations towards me unquestionably proves to you that he is guilty of one of the charges. That of inciting slanderous rumours about me. A charge which, as Monsieur Lévesque so eloquently made clear, also carries death as its penalty."
The courtroom still did not fall silent, but she could see understanding beginning to show on the faces of those who had listened to her. Several noted down what she had said.
"To say that I am a spy is to claim that it is in my character to deceive, betray and manipulate. Any man who has born witness to my behaviour since the moment my mother birthed me will be able to testify that this is simply not the case. That great number of witnesses include the prisoner, should he decide to abandon this farcical attempt at shifting blame and admit that he can no more prove my guilt than prove his innocence."
"I have extensive proof of my claim, my lords, which I should be only too glad to divulge to the court." Rochefort interjected, still not looking away from her.
"Proof…? What proof could possibly exist to confirm what you say…?" One of the jurymen cried and the men gathered around the table began to yell again, at each other, at the Comte, at no one in particular. The dauphin began to cry loudly, screaming into Constance's shoulder, while his father stood screaming for silence, voice straining in his throat and curly hair bouncing where he was bobbing up and down with impatience.
"…it is simply out of character…"
"…have been known to lie…"
"...extensive proof, he claims..."
"…execution certainly does strike fear into…"
"…I WILL SEE YOU HANG FOR THAT REMARK…"
Anne, seeing that addressing the jury was achieving nothing, turned forcefully to finally confront the prisoner. The noise of the courtroom suddenly seemed distant, fading into the background, like rain on the pages of a book, until it appeared that she and the man she despised most in the world were stood entirely alone.
"You cannot prove something that is not true."
Rochefort leant towards her and lowered his voice.
"Just as you cannot prove that the King is the dauphin's father. Yet somehow you have convinced him that the little bastard is his."
Anne could see Aramis over Rochefort's shoulder. He had stopped shouting, and had been forced back into his seat by Porthos' sturdy hand. He continued to mutter to the others in a harsh, hushed tone, though no specific words were audible. His face had a shadow cast over it, the ghost of something grim, the horror of the moment, and the prospect of something unbearable.
His face so often paints a picture of how he feels, the emotions of his heart so explicitly written across his eyes, his lips, and the line of his jaw, she thought, distracted momentarily.
I would endure a thousand years of Rochefort's slander, if it meant that the accusatory finger was pointed away from him.
"Your lies will not save you, Rochefort." She whispered, "If the executioner does not take your head, then there are many others who will."
The Comte took a step closer to her, so he was almost next to her. He seemed to soften, as much as a man like him could, but it made Anne's stomach churn. He had not spoken to her in this way since attacking her and he was daring to do it again now, at his own trial, under the watchful eyes of the jury.
She looked for the guards, but they seemed too concerned with ensuring that Aramis was not going to cause any trouble. She looked to the King, but he had turned on Treville, who was dismally failing to calm him down. The Musketeers were arguing amongst each other and Constance was exhaustedly rocking the dauphin in her arms, his wailing causing deep lines to set in her brow. Vargas had clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut tightly.
When she turned back, Rochefort was so close that she could feel his warm breath on her face.
"If lying is the only way to make you love me, then I will never speak the truth again."
She felt a cold shiver overwhelm her.
"Tell them the truth, Rochefort." She urged, "If there is any trace left of the man I once thought a friend, then tell the truth."
Perhaps reasoning with him will end this.
"I am sure that if you admit everything now, instead of telling more lies, the King will be merciful..."
Rochefort smiled, almost laughed.
"Now who is the liar?"
Anne looked away ashamedly.
"You know as well as I do. The moment I confess, I die."
His hand slightly reached for hers, but pulled back almost immediately, aware that eyes could still be watching.
"And I will not die before I hear you say it."
He is so desperately lonely, she thought.
And he deserves to die that way too.
"Please… tell me you love me…
"No…"
"Anne, listen to me …Anne..." She hated the sound of her name on his tongue.
"No…I will not…I will never…"
"Love me…"
He looked pained at having to bargain with her.
"...and I will leave the Musketeer out of my testimony."
The words ripped her lungs from her body, twisted the air from them and shoved them back down her throat. They echoed rapidly in her memory, over and over and over again. I thought that he could burrow no further into my mind, she anguished. But he has latched into it, like a lustful parasite, and drains me completely of hope, of life, of passion, of sanity. Why must he so easily see my weaknesses? Why must he so easily manipulate me?
What sins have I committed to deserve this?
Her head span. She felt sick, dizzy, as if the ground was falling away from her. Her empty stomach hurt. It was so noisy. She could not concentrate, could barely even consider the choice presented to her. She did not want to consider it. She could hear her son crying, Constance's soothing unable to calm him.
I have to get out of here, to think, to plan… I cannot be here any longer…
"…surely we must consider…"
"…IT CANNOT BE…"
"…God often presents such…"
Oh merciful Lord in Heaven...
"…Aramis, think how this looks…"
"…have mercy on their souls…"
"…IGNORANT FOOL…"
...in the name of all that is good, I ask you...
"…YES…"
"…WOMAN, REMOVE THAT INFANT…"
"…MERCIFUL HEAVEN, PLEASE STOP…"
WHAT SINS HAVE I COMMITTED TO DESERVE THIS?
"SILENCE!"
A deathly quiet fell in a matter of seconds, half finished sentences lingering in the air.
Louis, having become tired of not being the centre of attention, had discarded his dignity and stood on his chair to screech this order.
"THE NEXT MAN WHO SPEAKS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION WILL HANG."
To see her husband towering above her broke Anne out of her thoughts, and she realised that Rochefort had retreated, ready to resume his façade. The dauphin was merely gargling now, and Aramis had reclaimed his musket, although Athos seemed to be concealing the ammunition inside his doublet. It was as if the disruption had never happened. As though an angel had grasped the tongues of every man present and cleansed them of their vices; the prisoner's lustful muttering, the jury's envious arguing and Aramis' wrathful whispering.
"You all dare to speak over me? I am the King! This is my courtroom! And I will not stand for such a lack of respect!" he cried, as everyone looked at the floor, hoping they could avoid the brunt of his rage.
"To not respect your King is treason. TRAITORS HANG."
Nobody was under the illusion that the petulant leader would not be true to his word and nobody wanted to end this troubled day at the end of a rope.
It was so silent, it was as if a plague had wiped the life from the room.
The King slumped back into his seat and massaged his brow.
Panting heavily, face practically twitching with fury, he looked at Rochefort.
"Now…" There was a poisonous edge to his voice, "Rochefort… your King commands you... explain your disgusting accusation against my queen… concisely… and… convincingly… or I WILL HAVE YOU SHOT. WHERE. YOU. STAND."
A soft click of a musket being cocked ensured the prisoner knew the threat was genuine.
Anne felt her head clouding, fatigue washing over her, Rochefort's words still ringing in her ears.
I need to talk to Aramis…to Treville…
I need to stop this trial.
"Your Majesty, I have been corroborating the evidence for this claim for several months now…" Rochefort was saying, voice weakened a little with the knowledge that a musket was aimed at his head, but Anne's vision was filling with white light. It was an odd sensation, one which she had never experienced before.
Strangely, she was glad she had not eaten.
"...once I explain how... discover... treachery..."
Perhaps I shall faint and delay the proceedings…
"...you... where...loyalty truly lies..."
Perhaps I shall faint…
Perhaps…
Perhaps...
Perhaps I must faint.
"LOOK TO THE QUEEN!" The new Archbishop interrupted, and Anne felt the air be knocked from her as she hit the ground. The pain that came with colliding into a wooden floor was bearable, for she knew that she would soon be back at the palace, away from this awful place, from this man who tortured her mind. There, she would be able to carefully consider her counter manoeuvres, with her faithful Musketeers at her side. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the tingling where she had knocked her elbow and the aching where she had landed with her legs resting at uncomfortable angles. She could feel her muscles twitching with the desire to relax, to shift and ease their straining, but resisted the temptation.
Her crown fell from her head, rolled across the floor and stopped at Rochefort's feet.
The Comte momentarily looked shocked, but a knowing smile soon played on his lips, knowing that he had to concede the first victory to his worthy opponent.
She was certainly not unconscious, but the world still seemed muffled.
Slow.
Distant.
Like she was sinking into treacle.
"Your Majesty...? Your Majesty...?" a voice called.
She was being cradled in someone's arms, but she could not tell whose arms they were.
How strange it feels to be deceiving those I wish to prove myself honest to, she thought sluggishly.
"The queen is not well. She needs a doctor immediately." Lévesque's unmistakably unconvinced tone sounded.
I must keep my eyes closed...
If I fall asleep, it will only add to the illusion.
If I dream, I hope to dream of the life I long for.
The child that I live for and the Musketeer I would die for.
"Take the queen back to the palace. We will resume when she is in good health again." Someone said and Anne felt herself be lifted into the air. The figure carrying her was strong and gentle, easily holding her as though she was made of nothing but air. Somebody had retrieved her crown and loosely set it upon her head again.
Every step away from Rochefort, away from the trial, seemed to ease the pressure in her temples.
"Women…" came another voice, as she seemed to be nearing the door.
"…courtrooms are not the place….
"…they simply do not understand the law… too much pressure… makes them swoon…."
"…countless times before…"
"…'tis a pity that the queen should be no different to ordinary women in this sense…"
...'tis a shame that the queen is so weak, and lacks the shrewdness of our noble King...
The man carrying her gave a low chuckle and she tentatively opened her eyes to see Porthos grinning down at her. Constance and d'Artagnan were following behind him, also both grinning.
As they left the courtroom, closed the door behind them and began to make the journey to the royal carriage, Porthos began to quietly laugh.
It was joyful laugh that filled Anne with a hope she had not dreamed she would experience in these dark hours.
And a hope that she dreaded she would never feel again.