Translations
dénouer - to untie, the precursor of dénouement, which did not come into use until the mid-1740s. My further apologies as I'm sure I have not conjugated it properly to imply untying.
laisser passer l'eau sous les ponts - to let water flow under the bridge/ (colloquial) let it go
Chapter Eighteen
d'Artagnan's second near miss with falling into his soup bowl prompted Aramis to declare it was time for everyone to seek their beds. They shoed out the dog and cat, who snuck in with d'Artagnan, barricaded all three doors and fell into bed exhausted. Three of them to lie staring at the ceiling by the light of the round-faced moon peeping in the windows. Their fourth was truly asleep before his head touched the pillow, though it was neither a dreamless nor an easy slumber.
d'Artagnan did not wake, however, as the Musketeers did, at the first knock on the sitting room door shortly after the sun launched the new day.
Athos was up first, dragging on britches and pulling a shirt over his head, signing to Porthos, who shambled out of his room, to back up and close the door.
"Herr Athos." The messenger on the other side of the door bowed. "Herr Joos requests your immediate presence in the Hall of Council."
"Immediate," Athos echoed, in a shade less whispery voice. "Of course. I'll be there in quarter of an hour."
The man cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I ... I am to escort you, sir."
"Then you may wait." Athos shut the door on the 'escort', shrugging at Porthos' 'what was that about?' face, and returned to the bed chamber to make himself presentable. Wearing a beard saved so much time in the morning; splash a little water on the face, scrub at the teeth with a bit of willow bark, tame the hair by donning a hat and no further facial grooming was required.
Porthos and Aramis were dressed and waiting for him in the sitting room when he reappeared.
"What does he want?"
"You know as much as I do. Maybe he has the contract ready."
"It's barely seven o'clock. He wants to sign contracts at this hour of the morning?" Aramis whispered, mindful of the man on the other side of the door. "Not likely."
"I'm not likin' this at all," Porthos grumbled in an undertone.
"The only way to find out is to go down and see what he wants." Athos belted on his sword, checked that his pistol had dried out, stowed his parrying dagger and stamped into his boots.
"We're goin' too," Porthos stated, reaching for the door.
Athos' hand stayed him before he could open it. "They're not going to ambush me in the Hall of Council."
Porthos growled, low in his throat. "I don' like this at all," he repeated.
"They might arrest me, but that's all they can do at this point. If that does happen, I would ask you not to interfere. And send a message immediately to Tréville."
"If they'd allow it. You don't know anything for certain." Aramis was of the same mind as Porthos. "We should go with you."
"No. It may still work to our advantage that you remain - for the time being - too ill to leave our rooms. I want the element of surprise." Athos loosed his rapier, flicking off the safety that kept it contained in the scabbard. "If I'm not back within the hour, or marched away through the courtyard," he said without inflection, "then please do come looking."
"We'll give you twenty minutes," Porthos said decisively. "An then we're comin' for ya."
Athos scowled, but accepted the compromise. If all the Venner wanted him for was to sign documents, it wouldn't take fifteen minutes.
Athos ran a hand through his hair, clapped his hat on his head and exited the room. He did not wait to be 'escorted', he took the back stairs down two at a time, to the second floor. Here, a long hallway attached the guest quarters to the Rathaus proper, where the Hall of Council took up the entirety of the second floor.
His escort was trotting to keep up with his long stride and he made no effort, as he usually would, to accommodate the man. Reaching the end of the hallway, Athos took a left, paused only long enough to yank open one side of the heavy double doors and strode through into the echoing chamber.
"Herr Joos, Madam Joos," he greeted, removing his hat to bow. "I beg your pardon for appearing in such a state of dishevelment, but your messenger made it sound ... urgent." Apparently he had not been summoned to sign the capitulation for the French delegation. He did not fish for reasons, just spread his feet and stood waiting, hat in one hand, the other resting lightly on his sword.
Madam Joos was enthroned in the Venner's chair, though it was turned away from the table, towards the entrance. The Venner stood beside her, hands behind his back, feet also spread wide.
The Venner flicked a finger and the servant behind Athos closed the door.
Athos saw no weapons, but he did not advance further into the room. Even a small hand pistol could kill a man at this distance, though he would have some warning and could potentially duck back through the door for cover.
"What is wrong with your voice?" Madam demanded crossly. "I can hardly hear you."
"My further apologies, madam, I have acquired a bit of a sore throat and seem to have lost most of my vocal abilities overnight. I will endeavor to make myself better heard." He bowed again, and since she'd opened the dialogue, asked, "To what end has my presence been commanded?"
"My wife has confessed your sins, sirrah!"
The finger of death slid down Athos' spine, chilling him more thoroughly than the Aare swirling through the aqueduct. His mind instantly began calculating the probability of success in dueling with a Swiss Venner who had probably served nearly as many years as a soldier as Athos had been alive. The Swiss were bred to the bone soldiers; the boys wielded wooden swords almost before they could walk and cut their eye teeth on the fearsome Swiss halberd.
"My sins are legion. Pray tell, of which of them do we speak?" Athos strolled closer, partly so he did not have to strain to make himself heard, since his voice was barely above a whisper, partly the better to observe body language and facial expressions.
Madam did not lean back in the chair, she sat upright as a queen upon a chessboard, hands folded loosely in her lap, no hint of tension or stress visible in the line of her shoulder or arms, not even about the serenely composed mouth. Had she told the Venner of the carnal pleasures of their night together? Why? And if so, what did the man want? To defend her honor at this late date?
"This is difficult and will surely be awkward for both us, but she is insistent."
Athos remained still as a statue, though surprise suffused another of those uncomfortably uncontrollable blushes.
A twinkle brightened the Venner's stern gaze at this involuntary evidence. "You have proven your sagacity at the negotiating table repeatedly; I expect you know very well what we discuss."
Athos' stiff spine softened, again without his permission, but relief would not be denied. This was not going to be about five dead men. "You have the advantage of me, sir."
The Venner inclined his head in concession. "Very well then, I will lay out my hand. Kami tells me she has made it perfectly clear you are welcome in her bed. And that you have ignored all of her lures. Do you require remuneration?"
That made him blink, though his mind blanked to the extent he could not form a coherent reply. It required effort to keep his jaw from flapping.
"Come, I know you have travelled the courts of Europe. Kami has told me of your meeting in Moscow, you are no prude." The Venner moved to stand behind his wife's chair, crossing his arms over the ornately carved back.
Athos rubbed at an eyebrow, his diplomatic skills having abandoned him in his hour of need. "I'm flattered ..." he began, since some response seemed required, but he could not shape his tongue to further words.
"I can sweeten the deal, either personally, or, if you are that patriotic," the Venner smiled his approbation of this thought, "for your king."
Words! He needed words that would not come. Athos the Imperturbable did not realize his gaze was beseeching.
The Venner smiled kindly. "I can see you are confounded by our proposal. Perhaps you are wary of my reluctance." He inclined his head as regally as an old, deposed lion. "Have no fear on that account, my lord. I was blessed to marry a young wife and sire three fine sons before I was disabled." He beamed with the fierce pride of the Swiss, not the least discomfited by his revealing speech, while certain parts of Athos shriveled at the thought of exposing such vulnerability. "I cannot deny my wife what I should have been able to provide her now, can I? On the contrary, both Kami and I would be pleased by your acceptance of this commission."
Athos was hot and cold and a bit nauseated, though he could not decide if illness made it so - or the situation he found himself in. It explained why only his presence had been requested and was so far from what he had expected as to be laughable. Only no one was laughing. Least of all, himself.
"We have caught you by surprise; that is to your credit. Shall we say ... this afternoon. Madam's carriage will pick you up at the Rathaus at 2:00? Would that suit? Oh, and, if desired, the Junge would be welcome as well."
Madam flushed prettily, bowing her head, though a tiny smile of triumph flickered across the otherwise composed features. "Do your companions remain indisposed, my lord?" she inquired softly, raising her head to look Athos squarely in the eye. "Perhaps, if they are feeling better, they could join us for dinner."
Impaled on a look.
The missing words lined up behind Athos' clamped jaw quicker than a Swiss regiment called to formation. He bowed with courtly elegance and loosed them. "Madam, perhaps we should invite them down now, to break our fast prior to our assignation. They were anxious to accompany me when I was escorted from the suite."
He saw the flicker of alarm and knew a dread such as he had experienced only once before in his life. "Herr Venner, please have your servant request the presence of Aramis and Porthos. If d'Artagnan is awake, he may come as well, but do not have them wake him. He is recovering from a wound inflicted Sunday evening and, frankly, I would rather he sleep through this dénouer."
" Dénouer? What do we untie?" the Venner's handsome features lost their ruddy hue. All color drained from his face, but he did not move.
"I do not have words to put this delicately, sir; your wife is attempting to blackmail me into her bed."
"Blackmail?"
Athos watched the gentleman literally lose height. The chair blocked his view, but he could imagine the knees sagging as the broad shoulders hunched. The Venner aged before his eyes, the fine lines and wrinkles that had marked the man's face with hard-earned wisdom and grace sagging with a bone-deep weariness.
It had been there all along, Athos saw now, buried beneath the gift of affability and charm. The currents in the room ran deeper than the Aare.
The old man sighed, shuffling a bit behind the chair as he clasped his hands in a gesture Athos could only translate as supplication, though when he spoke, the Venner courteously met the comte's gaze directly. "What has she done now?" he asked despairingly.
There was more a stake then he understood, but Athos could not yet deduce what it might be. "Madam, do you wish to wait for proof, or shall we will deal with this between ourselves?"
If the Venner had deflated, Madam appeared to puff up like a pouter pigeon. "You accuse me wrongfully, sir. I have no need to blackmail anyone into my bed!" She rose with all the majesty of a ship-of-the-line under full sail. "What I did, I did for my people, not for your presence in my bed. Though I sought the easier route, thinking to convince you to abandon your campaign to sacrifice more of our sons on your battlefields, by seducing you!"
"The sad thing is, madam, I would have come willingly to your bed had I understood the rules of the engagement. Though even your considerable charms could not have seduced me to break trust with my sovereign."
"That merely makes you as much a fool as he, my lord, if you choose willingly to accede to his whims! For centuries," she flung the word at him, then shrilled it again, "do you hear me? For centuries the Swiss have supplied soldiers to the French kings! For centuries, you have returned them to us on litters and biers, slung over the backs of horses as though they were worthless commodities! Unmendably broken you said your heart was - like the Junge who worships in your wake, you do not have the experience to understand unmendably broken! It may be true you have no heart, my lord, for a man who can hang his own wife must be totally without feeling, but that is not brokenness, sirrah! That is willful withholding of affection and compassion! You cannot begin to understand the impact of grief on the wives and sisters and daughters of our country!"
Beneath the comte's calm exterior, a shaft of empathy pierced the roiling wrath, though it did not stay further words spoken in a deadly whisper. "Five men are dead by my hand, sir, because of your wife's machinations."
Madam Joos sat abruptly, the ship's prow heaving. "Five men? Rachid?"
If possible, the Venner's face turned a whiter shade of pale. He moved now, shuffling like an old man, to draw out one of the lesser chairs at the table and sat heavily, head in his hands, a defeated foe. "Madam, what have you done? How does Rachid come into this? You had best tell me everything."
Madam Joos was mad. And her husband knew the extent of her illness, though it appeared he had not been complicit in his wife's schemes. Athos shifted uncomfortably. He had the words now, but lacked the fortitude to utter more of them in the face of the overwhelming distress flowing from the Venner in such waves the comte thought it might flood the room and drown them all. He floundered in it as well, the resurrected white hot anger swamped by the ocean of anguish.
The door opened behind his back. Had it already been twenty minutes? No servant had appeared to convey his own summons, but he did not need to turn to know who had entered the room
The Venner lifted his head, and gasped, propelling himself from the chair. "My God, Kamille, what have you done? The French king will grind the Swiss Confederacy beneath his heel! This offense to his subjects, under the flag of diplomacy no less, cannot go unanswered! What have you done?" He sank back, clutching his chest. "How is Rachid involved?"
"He is dead then?" Madam did not answer her husband's inquiry. She leaned forward slightly, knuckles white where they grasped the chair arms. "Tell me, I must know!"
Athos kept the internal battle off his face as Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan flanked him on either side, the fading echo of their footsteps ringing in the suspended silence of the moment. "If he was among the men who guarded a house on Spitalgasse, then he is most likely dead."
"No one was supposed to be hurt! No one! Certainly not Rachid!" A short, sharp wail sliced through the room, cut short as madam stuffed her fist in her mouth. She bit her knuckles as a fountain of tears overflowed, running silently down her cheeks. "The men he told me he had employed were headquartered on Spitalgasse. He is dead."
"Rachid?" the Venner whispered. "You dragged Rachid into this? And he is dead? God help us all." He rose again, the stark shock of betrayal branded indelibly on his countenance. He tottered the few steps to his wife's chair and wobbled to his knees, taking her hands between his own to chafe them gently. "You must tell me what you've done, my darling. I will do all in my power to make it come out right, but you must tell me what you've done."
Madam's eyes were glazed, her luscious mouth a trembling moue, her hands, held fast between the Venner's, likewise afflicted. The best stage actors on the continent could not hope to portray such a picture of unmitigated torment.
Herr Joos sighed. "She is gone beyond us for the moment." He folded the tremulous hands carefully into her lap, pushed himself to his feet and turned to face the French contingent. "Rachid was an old and dear friend; she must have convinced him to aid her in whatever scheme she had concocted." The Venner was blinking back tears."He was not at the opening ball, but you may have met him at the luncheon after services on Sunday. Do you know if he was among the five dead men?" he asked calmly.
Athos cleared his throat in an attempt to clarify his thready voice. "Yes." He could recall the face clearly now, slack in death, and match it up with the animated features of the man who had glowered at him across the patio for much of the after-church luncheon.
"The fire on Spitalgasse?"
"Yes," Athos repeated, undecided if he was grateful or annoyed at the lack of censure in the Venner's tone. "I could not afford to leave a trail of dead bodies in my wake."
"Yes, I can see that." The Venner looked away briefly. "Rachid would have appreciated the Viking burial. He was a man without family of his own. He too, lost children, and his wife died of grief. They had much in common, he and my wife. He was Kamille's most constant paramour."
"And the others? What of them and their families?" d'Artagnan squared his shoulders, sticking his thumbs in his sword belt.
Aramis kicked him in the ankle. "Shhhh," he hissed quietly.
"No." d'Artagan sidestepped. "I will not be shushed. I've spent two days in hell thinking I'd gotten Aramis and Porthos killed, helped set a fire that burned five bodies, then had to sit across from you yesterday at that table and pretend nothing had happened! I will not shush."
"I am sorry for your pain, Junge. May we all sit down? I can see you have been ill-treated as well, Herr Aramis, yet I cannot imagine my wife or my best friend sanctioning such behavior."
"He will not tell you so, but d'Artagnan was injured in the fight at the tavern as well," Athos repeated. "If it would not embarrass him to death, I would ask him to show you the beating he, too, received, in addition to being sliced with a blade."
Herr Joos shuffled backwards until the backs of his knees met with the front of the chair and subsided into it. "You must tell me from the beginning."
Aramis laid a hand on Athos' tense sword arm as the comte drew breath to speak again.
"Athos, as you may be aware," Aramis interrupted, "has been ill since we arrived. Yesterday he spent much of the day in the aqueduct beneath the city, looking for us. The lung infection he had just about conquered has returned with a vengeance." The marksman folded his arms over his chest. "I will speak for him."
"I thought it was you, and Herr Porthos, who were ill, Herr Aramis."
"That was a fiction made up to cover our disappearance. Porthos and I were abducted from a tavern across the river from your race track, where we had repaired Sunday evening," Aramis paused, "on the advice of Rachid."
The Venner sighed. "I do doubt his involvement; it is just the crazy kind of scheme he would enjoy. What I cannot fathom is his involvement with the kind of violence your face, and apparently Herr d'Artagnan's injuries, suggest."
"I did not see him among the lot who were responsible for this assault." Aramis indicated his face. "Nor did I see him at the tavern." He glanced across at Porthos, who shook his head.
"I woulda recognized him too. I didn't see 'em either."
"Your wife, however, was at the tavern. I'm not sure why, unless she wanted to see the deed done," Aramis said baldly, "But she was there. Porthos and I were knocked out. We both woke in the cellar of an old house, with no knowledge of what had happened to d'Artagnan.
" Are you injured, Herr Porthos?"
"Just'm pride," Porthos replied stoically. "Thinkin' we mighta avoided this whole mess somehow, if we'd been on the lookout for the signs."
"You might have avoided all of this if you'd just told me your companions were missing, Herr Athos." The Venner ran a shaky hand over his face. "We have known for years now, that Kamille is a little unstable, but nothing like this has ever happened before. On her worst days she is inconsolable. On her better days, she is a creature of light and passion such as can't be contained. She is fashioned of Toledo steel; she would not bow to her grief as Rachid's wife, Birgitta, did. But neither was she able to overcome its mark upon her soul." He lifted his voice and called for the servant. "Halvar! In this, my lord, I will not be dissuaded. I should have insisted on calling for the Doktor when you first mentioned an illness. Perhaps had I pressed, lives might have been saved."
"I did not know who, if any, among the council, might be involved." Athos' lips thinned, though the beard hid the acknowledgement. "We have no need of a physician either. Aramis is more than a competent healer. He has already dealt with the multiple injuries suffered."
"I understand your reasoning; it does not lessen the burden of guilt. Had you been fully assured of my allegiance, it is possible none of this would have happened."
The servant appeared with a towel over his arm. "Sir?"
"If it has not been done already, see that the kitchen has sent up food for our guests to break their fast this morning."
"Yes, sir."
Herr Venner waited several moments, head tilted, listening. "Good. If I cannot send him for the Doktor, that will at least keep him from listening at the door for a bit. Go on, Herr Aramis. You woke in the cellar, without the Junge?"
"We were taken separately to a place further into the city and left there until yesterday, when Athos went questing through the aqueducts and chanced upon our hidden room."
"Rachid had charge of the antiquities removed from the cathedral as the Reformation marched on our borders."
"Indeed." Aramis continued. "We made our escape through at least one of the rooms in which the art is stored, returning here through the aqueduct and the Bärengraben where d'Artagnan met us with horses for the journey back to the Rathaus. Are you aware, Herr Venner, that Berne could support its entire citizenry on the proceeds of the sale of those antiquities?"
"The Bärengraben? I see there were ulterior motives when the Junge asked René for a tour yesterday. You are to be commended on the discipline and resourcefulness of your team, Herr Athos." Herr Joos picked at a loose thread on the cuff of his shirt. "Of course I am aware of the value of the property we store, but it is our heritage and not for sale. I suppose I will have to inform the Bürgermeister of this business, he will have to appoint a new keeper of the keys. And I must find out, if I can, who the other men were. But that is the work of later, now we must finish this." He sat straight in the chair, hands resting on the chair arms, and inclined his head to Aramis. "Your succinct summary raises as many questions in my mind as it answers. The most important, though, I must beg your further indulgence in asking." The faded blue eyes shifted to Athos. "Is there any reparation I might offer that could possibly assail this breach of etiquette? Will you require that I hang her, Herr Comte?"
A deep breath and Athos dredged up the words that had flown again, along with enough voice to declare them. "For my own sins, sir, I am accountable; no others. I can be neither judge nor jury."
"Only you can make that decision, Herr Joos," Aramis stated quietly, affirming their united stance., though he not quite certain d'Artagnan agreed.
"I would not have you think she is monster." The Venner reached across both chair arms to pluck up the still trembling hand.
"Herr Venner ..." Athos began.
The shock had passed. Herr Joos was regaining control.
"I must have the members' signatures affixed, but the capitulation will be delivered to your suite within the hour. We have already had responses from four other cantons; that is enough to back our pledge. You will have your twelve regiments and I will personally contribute half the agreed upon cost to the city coffers. Will that suffice to make amends with your king?" When he rose again, the mantle of leadership had resettled itself about his person. His stance was solid, his mien though set, unreadable, the grooved wrinkles and lines reflective of strength and character once more.
Athos considered a moment. "Do you attempt to bribe our silence in this matter, sir?"
The Venner's lips twisted in humorless irreverence. "God no, I would not dare ask that of a man required to hang his own wife."
Athos experienced Porthos' surprise as a tiny jerk of the broad shoulder budged up against his own in solidarity. Aramis, budged up as close on the other side, sighed infinitesimally. d'Artagnan's head jerked toward him like a wild animal suddenly sensing a predator.
"We will be required to make a full report, as our captain is already aware of the situation. Whether or not the king is informed will be at his discretion. Nor could I venture to guess what Louis' reaction might be should the situation come to his attention." Athos broke ranks to move toward the Venner. "I am sure, under the circumstances, you will understand when I tender our regrets in the matter of a closing ball." He extended his hand as he stopped in front of the man. "Though our association has been brief, your exemplary conduct throughout has been a lesson to all of us, but especially to me. I am sorry that it closes on this discordant note."
"And I as well." Herr Joos returned the grip in full measure as they shook hands."You are a hard bargainer, comte, and a born diplomatist. I hope your king knows what a valuable asset he has in your quartet."
Across the room, Porthos covered his snort with a cough, sidestepping before Aramis could catch his ankle.
"Thank you, sir." Athos turned away, then turned back abruptly. "Porthos' and Aramis' weapons were taken, mostly likely by your wife, or Rachid. They are valuable in their own right; however, Aramis is much attached to his pistol, it has sentimental value as well. We would like them back."
"I will have them found and returned with the signed capitulation."
"Thank you. There is one other thing ..." Athos withdrew a cinched sack from a coat pocket.
"If it is within my power to do, consider it done."
"There is a boy in the city, his name is Peter Rorschach. He lives behind a second story window on Kramgasse."
"I know the family."
"What are his circumstances?"
"He is an only child, allowed to run free much of the time, as his mother must work. She was widowed before Peter was born."
"May I leave this with you?" Athos put into the Venner's hands, a fat leather purse. "If there is need the mother cannot meet ..."
Herr Joos looked down at the weight in his hand. "I may assume that Peter was instrumental in some way in finding your comrades? Was it he who pointed you to the aqueduct? I have hauled him out of there numerous times."
"You may, and no, he did not."
Herr Venner tucked the offering away in a pocket, well aware that to dismiss it would be tantamount to dismissing the French contingent. "Rest assured I will see it done. May fate deal with you more gently in the future, Herr Athos." He rose, taking his wife by the arm and drawing her to her feet. "I know it is a jaunt back to Paris, safe journeying gentlemen. Rest assured we will answer when your king calls, be that next month, or ten years from now." Together, the Venner and his lady wife, began a stately retreat.
Madam brushed past Athos, her downcast head turning briefly, eyes slanting up to meet his gaze. Her lips shaped the words, "I knew you had a heart," though not a whisper of sound escaped.
Athos' jaw clenched against the malice in that gaze, though he gave no other acknowledgement.
"Did she say something to you?" d'Artagnan, turning to follow the departure, glanced over his shoulder at Athos.
"No." Athos' boot heel smeared a black splotch on the marble where it ground into the floor as he turned and strode out of the room, heading in the opposite direction of the Swiss couple.
"You knew about his wife?" Porthos snatched at Aramis' arm before he could follow suit.
"He told me about only because he was concerned Madam Joos would try to use the information to muck up the negotiations."
"When did this happen?" d'Artagnan cocked his head inquiringly.
"What difference does it make?"
"Just wondering. It might have been her opening salvo. Had we all known, maybe we'd have watched her closer."
Aramis' bruised face produced a lopsided scowl. "Let it go, both of you. It's over and done. Laisser passer l'eau sous les ponts."
"Right, water under the bridge. I get it, but a'lotta other things make sense now."
Aramis' only response was the lift of an eyebrow.
"Fine, make like one'a them 'Gyptian sphinxes. But d'Artagnan's right. One'a ya shoulda told us."
18/19