Chapter 4
It was a sad entrance into the Musketeers' headquarters that d'Artagnan made. A grave, final walk that had to be done.
She had made the way from the Louvre to here as if in reeling, as if paralysed and stunned, and it was only at the archway to the Hôtel de Tréville that she realised where her feet had carried her in old habit. The coat of arms shone above the entrance, a golden lion on a red background. Around it was a bond with the motto fidelis et fortis. Faithful and brave.
None of this seemed true any more.
D'Artagnan pulled herself together and went through the gate. From the courtyard, she was immediately greeted by a commotion that was usually only heard in the busy streets and squares. The place could have been mistaken for a tavern, so boisterous were the musketeers at their headquarters, undisciplined and disorderly, but in fact confident and proud. They vociferously demonstrated that the rumours of their captain's arrest could only be a misunderstanding, if not a bold-faced lie. They were waiting for news to confirm it or, if necessary, to indignantly set out and besiege the Bastille until Tréville returned to them!
D'Artagnan pulled her hat down low on her forehead, but her arrival did not go unnoticed for long. The musketeers besieged her with questions; they were reassured by her. The captain was well and presently still in an audience with His Majesty. Soon he would be back and this whole affair just a fading absurdity, a misunderstanding.
The men shouted in triumph and laughed, not noticing that their former lieutenant sneaked off their midst quietly. She went up the stairs to the study one last time to also tell Duprés about the turn of events.
The adjutant heard it with relief and yet he noticed a strange undertone, d'Artagnan's burdened mood, her melancholy glances towards the desk and the window.
She pushed aside any concerned question even before it could be asked. The men better not find out about her change of regiment early on. That would have led to an uproar, to imprecating Richelieu, in the worst case to a street battle between friend and foe in which good soldiers on both sides would be killed. Moreover, d'Artagnan would have had to confess that she had laid her head on the block for Tréville and Rochefort. It would have been a shifting of all blame, a belated yielding to the blackmail by king and cardinal.
On her honour, never!
D'Artagnan half hoped, as she stiff-leggedly strode out of the study and followed the stairs down back into the inner courtyard, that now, at this moment, the captain would return. With good news that His Majesty had withdrawn his sentence, that she would be allowed to remain the lieutenant at Tréville's side.
It was a foolish hope. Keeping quiet about the real reason for the duel must have been more important than her own fate. Otherwise a turning point could have been made right there in the audience hall. Tréville would have held her back and ordered her to go home and, ventredieu!, not to set foot in the Palais Cardinal until he has spoken and consulted with her in private.
There would have been a way if there had been a will.
Her own will now demanded her to remain silent and to be responsible for the reputation of the captain and the master spy. It could be called a mission. Yes, d'Artagnan told herself, it was a mission to be carried out with courage.
She had her horse saddled, a grey gelding whose name, Peur, deceived about his gentle and serene nature. She led him by the reins out of the courtyard, for he was no longer allowed to stay here.
The musketeers watched d'Artagnan leave in wonder, but it was not their place to ask why. Perhaps there had been orders given in the Louvre, there would be nothing unusual about that. And so they let their lieutenant go.
Out on the street, d'Artagnan did not mount, but once again let her feet and Peur take the lead, while her thoughts went completely their own ways. With each step, the realisation dawned on her; starting tomorrow, she would have to face old adversaries and declared enemies, endure ridicule, if not outright hatred, from the guardsmen and the musketeers. At the same time, she had to guard her secret better than ever, without any support from superiors or friends.
She was doomed.
It was only when Peur nudged her in the back with his nose that she realised she had been standing there for quite a while, staring absently. She blinked herself back into the here and now and looked around. She had come out in the Marais district, the market was nearby. The colourful smells, the countless voices of customers and traders were already wafting over to her from there.
She stroked Peur's forehead, his dead straight pallor, soothing more herself than the loyal gelding. Her hand trembled treacherously and she tightened her grip on the reins.
The street was alive with passers-by, nobles as well as craftsmen, peons and lackeys. They strolled serenely or jostled recklessly past. D'Artagnan and her horse had become a swath and she caught many a scowl for it. But to a fully equipped musketeer in a distinctive uniform coat, no one dared say harsh words openly.
»On the run?«
Only one passer-by has stopped, immediately in front of her and Peur, and d'Artagnan hunched her shoulders before turning to him. »Is that what you think of me?« Her face was blank, but her voice cutting. »Then I must disappoint you, Rochefort. I remain as I was ordered.«
The stable master nodded and for a moment an expression of secret relief could be read on his face, before he acted inscrutable as usual again. If he felt for his friend, if he wanted to help her and not just keep an eye on her, he did not let on. He was unable to change his ways as a master spy and cast a meaningful glance at the gelding, at the bulging saddlebags. »Is that so?«
»Yes, by the Devil!« In a sudden, very angry impulse, d'Artagnan passed the reins of her Peur to a surprised Rochefort. »Do your duty as equerry and get my horse to the stables of the cardinal's palace, where it belongs from now on. If you wish to rummage through my bags, go ahead. You will find only what every soldier has with him.«
»Travel clothes, field gear, a letter from a beloved?«
D'Artagnan's jaws were grinding where otherwise a similar joke would have made her laugh and mockingly retort. Rochefort could have trusted her and left Peur to her again. Instead, he said, »It's the least favour I can do you, to give the proud little horse new shelter. I'm sure you won't want to leave him alone.«
She frowned. »Are you trying to take Peur hostage?«
»I try to keep both in town; the horse and its owner.« Rochefort patted the gelding, who was enjoying such attention. Peur seemed to know that the stable master meant no harm, d'Artagnan, however, felt only suspicion.
»So am I the hostage instead, that you're so worried I might leave Paris?« She snorted. »Bah, as if anyone could ever run far away enough from the cardinal's and his agents' sphere of influence!«
»That's all that keeps you from changing your clothes and escaping unrecognised?«
Rochefort knew he was wrong, that he had gone too far, even before d'Artagnan's angry and hurt look hit him. »It is you who is keeping me back. You and Tréville. You won't be asked the truth again, so I shall fulfil my duty and keep silent for both of you!«
She turned away abruptly, almost ran to the entrance gate of the market and disappeared into the crowd, untraceably even to His Eminence's spies.
Rochefort stayed behind with Peur and knew that he should no sooner come face to face with d'Artagnan until the cardinal again ordered them friendship. He sighed and led the good gelding into the stables of the Palais Cardinal.
Unnoticed by the stable master and the lieutenant, this brief conversation had not escaped the attention of all too curious eyes and ears. Although all those involved wished to keep the affair secret, at least for today, this hope was now dashed with the quarrel. Among the numerous passers-by around and in the Marais market was Monsieur de Pauger's servant, who was supposed to do some purchases for his master.
Pauger was one of the most loyal musketeers, completely devoted to the King and his superiors; he had always looked up to his captain and his lieutenant and would never have let a bad word about them go unchallenged.
His footman, on the other hand, was an unseemly blabbermouth who did not keep the news from his fellow servants and friends for long. During the day, the rumour that Lieutenant d'Artagnan had betrayed the Musketeers and joined the Cardinal rumbled louder and louder through the streets.
The lackey was quickly identified as the source of this outrageous story. He caught a huge scolding from his master for it in the evening and howled for forgiveness. Pauger ungraciously let him sleep on the threshold outside the door that night, while a gnawing bug of infidelity and dishonesty had been put in his own ear.
The next morning, the lieutenant of the Musketeers stayed away from headquarters. At first, because d'Artagnan had left on horseback, it was said that he was on a mission outside Paris. But since no message came, since Adjutant Duprés would not utter a word and the captain was in a terrible mood, the rumour was soon remembered.
It was Pauger himself who asked the question aloud among his comrades, although he had some doubts about it. His scepticism was shared by all; it also seemed quite impossible that their lieutenant, of all people, whose loyalty to the Musketeers had always distinguished him, should now have changed sides. They could think of no reason for it.
The dissatisfaction in the corps grew and also reached Tréville's ears. A word of command would have been enough to get rid of these accusations. But he remained silent. Not out of selfish motives or resentment against his former lieutenant - but because he would have stabbed d'Artagnan in the back a second time if he had admitted his guilt. She took the rap for him until he would have figured out an expedient. Until the cardinal offered him a way out that would not have involved even greater harm than the truth.
Until he himself would be brave enough to confess.
He also lacked bravery because d'Artagnan had obviously been in a great hurry to pack her bags, get her horse and her armament and to leave him- to leave the Musketeers and join the Cardinal. She had not waited for a minute for his return from the Louvre, where he was still arguing against the King and plunging deeper and deeper into disgrace. She had not offered him an opportunity for honest conversation, for advice and solace.
She had not even told him the whole truth in that cell, and Tréville pushed these thoughts far away from himself so as not to have to interpret them in the saddest way. The everyday life distracted him, he continued to act normal, thus making the loss more bearable for himself.
Hearsay continued to brew in the regiment until Pauger and his friend Jumonville finally decided to see for themselves, directly at the Palais Cardinal, whether one of the guardsmen on watch was their own lieutenant.
Indeed, they saw d'Artagnan in a red uniform. The realisation struck them like a blow, they retreated, stunned and full of anger.
The battle between the Musketeers and the Red Guard, which d'Artagnan had desperately wanted to prevent with her silent withdrawal, so as not to risk incurable wounds, the death of good men, was inexorably approaching and would take a bloody tribute in the end...
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