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...


Chapter 5

All these things were yet to happen as d'Artagnan stood on the Rue St. Honoré on a dull, grey autumn morning, the Louvre behind and the Palais Cardinal in front of her. She was staring at the massive town palace for quite a while now and meanwhile it seemed to be staring back.

D'Artagnan hesitated in front of the masonry, the high archways and countless porticoes. An emotional response that she had always forbidden herself as a soldier, and instead had boldly and sometimes recklessly rushed forward. Now, for the first time, she faltered uncertainly while the early morning mist from the Seine still bathed the town in a dull twilight and dampened all life in Paris.

It was not too late to pack her bags and flee the town as a nameless mademoiselle, go into hiding and never return. The cowardly plan had been discarded by d'Artagnan even before it had fully crept into her head as an idea. Only now, when the appointment with Richelieu was imminent, did it gnaw on her character again and tried to take hold in the back of her mind as a way out.

She reluctantly pushed the thought aside, with greater effort than before, and walked all the more determinedly towards the Palais Cardinal. She trudged on the cobblestones as if she could drown out her restlessness and doubts with the sound of firm boot steps.

The night had been short, the look in the mirror while morning toilet was disconcerting. Her reflection looked back so tired, defeated and abandoned by all her friends, dark circles under her eyes. She angrily threw a handful of water on her face and left the house without a word of explanation to her landlady as to why she was not wearing the uniform of the musketeers today, which she otherwise hardly ever took off.

Madeleine »Chevrette« knew her tenant's secret and was willing to keep it, out of admiration for the courageous fellow female. She was flattered to be taken into such confidence. A circumstance that could hardly be prevented when you lived under a single roof and did not make a suitable lover.

D'Artagnan had made Madeleine's acquaintance when she had taught whose foolish husband a lesson during a random, rather unkind encounter. Later, she had completely rid Madeleine of the boor who would never again treat a woman badly, especially not his wife. Since then, d'Artagnan lived for rent in the vacated rooms. The two women were useful to each other and initially formed a well-meaning partnership of convenience, which eventually became real friendship.

Contrary to secretly cherished wishes and hopes, no one had knocked at the Chevrette's door last night to urgently talk to d'Artagnan, to give her back either her horse or her post, or at least some confidence. So she knew where she stood with certain men and was now heading for the sentry at the middle gate in order to be admitted to the palace.

The two red coated guardsmen posted there watched her entrance with undisguised scepticism and blocked her way into the courtyard.

»Cahusac. Sorel.« D'Artagnan nodded to them; they knew each other in the rival troops.

»Monsieur le lieutenant.« Cahusac greeted gruffly and with just enough politeness that it could not be construed as sarcasm on his part. He was aged and experienced in service. »Where to?«

He asked in monosyllables, not for lack of respect. It was difficult for him to speak, his voice sounded strained and hoarse. Athos had given him a wound to the throat in the duel back at the Carmelite monastery and Cahusac bore the consequences until today.

Sorel, for his part, stood by in the background, ready to intervene immediately in case of doubt. He eyed d'Artagnan with calm serenity instead of hostility. A few casual stubbles of beard around his chin and cheeks betrayed him to be a bachelor who did not subject his life to socially fashions. He served since a few years, d'Artagnan estimated him to be in his mid to late twenties, the same age as her.

Apparently no one had told the guardsmen that they were forced to be involuntary allies, starting now. On another day, the wary behaviour towards her might have elicited a smirk from d'Artagnan. Now, however, this delay before a grave gait made her angry. »I am invited, step aside!«

»No,« Cahusac replied hoarsely.

»With respect, Monsieur, we shall not do so until you can prove this invitation,« Sorel added. He sounded amused, at the same time his eyes flashed challengingly and his hand rested confidently on the handle of his sword.

The demand for proof was justified; d'Artagnan would have given her own musketeers thick ears if they had allowed anyone to enter the Louvre just on the basis of allegations. Damn Rochefort, for not having passed on the news yet! D'Artagnan was entirely on her own, and her ire was more directed at forgetful stable masters than impudent guardsmen. »And if I cannot prove it? Will you shoot me down on the spot? The gentlemen would have a lot of explaining to do, Jussac will be overjoyed! My word of honour will have to suffice.«

Cahusac seemed to have a sharp reply on the tip of his tongue. On the other hand, Lieutenant Jussac would indeed not have been very grateful for the commotion, for an arrested officer or a corpse on the steps. Captain Luchaire was too much of a politician and he left dirty business to his second in command. While Tréville took almost pleasure in any confrontation with Richelieu, Luchaire fulfilled his duties from behind a desk. The captain of the Red Guard was a bureaucrat, an administrator. Jussac was therefore given more responsibility and d'Artagnan addressed him correctly in front of the guardsmen.

With a nod to Sorel, Cahusac decided, »Go with him!«

D'Artagnan did not need a nanny. »I know the way to His Eminence's study perfectly well.«

»Thither? Good.« Cahusac pointed behind himself with an inviting gesture. D'Artagnan spared herself another scowl and stepped past the veteran soldier. Sorel joined her and could not be shaken off or persuaded to retreat. They crossed the inner courtyard and left the stairway to the main wing behind them.

The gallery was followed by a wide staircase. Richelieu had had the former Hôtel d'Angennes magnificently furnished after he bought it. It had already been spacious before, but now it could be called glamorous, even pompous. Every corner reflected the influence and power of its owner, from the porticoes to the famous gardens. In sheer size and splendour, the palace was worthy a king.

»This way.« Sorel took the lead and d'Artagnan had to reluctantly concede that he was taking a shorter route to their destination than she would have chosen. She noted with a trained eye other guardsmen at their posts at important-seeming double doors or stairways, off the byways Sorel and she were now taking.

At the double door to the Prime Minister's study, two men stood guard. Sorel greeted them with »Meunier. Forgeron«, and without further ado or renewed discussion they were allowed to enter the antechamber. Cahusac had made a wise decision not to let d'Artagnan go alone; Sorel was not her watchdog, but her pass.

At this early hour, no one was present in the antechamber, except for a finely liveried footman who watched over the arrangement of the armchairs along the wall. Sorel strode to the door of the study, d'Artagnan ignored his confident manner demonstratively, as only a woman could do, without completely turning her attention away from the guardsman.

Sorel did not notice or let himself be distracted by this, he reported their arrival. With that, his task was done, he nodded in greeting to the supposed lieutenant of the musketeers and at her questioning look, he shrugged. »Cahusac waved you through on your word of honour, I escorted you to His Eminence. That settles the matter.«

D'Artagnan marvelled, but there was no time for a retort or even word of thanks for the fact that she was more trusted and respected among her enemies than she would have suspected. The footman beckoned her near and bade her enter Richelieu's study. She nodded at Sorel and then strode straight into the lion's den.

The lackey closed the door behind her, the draught at her back made d'Artagnan shiver. She covered her uneasy feeling by stepping forward firmly, directly in front of the dark palisander desk that dominated the room with its entire, massive size.

The cardinal sat there, his hands folded in front of him on the tabletop, his fingertips black with ink after the latest paperwork. His chair had a towering backrest, decorated with wood-carved florals plated with beat gold. More a throne than the simple chair of a humble servant of God. Richelieu eyed the tardy soldier before him with a piercing look. »You are late.«

»Pardon me, Your Eminence.« D'Artagnan bowed without adding an explanation. She briefly caught a glimpse of a cat basket that stood next to the desk. The red velvet cushion in it had a lounging hollow, someone had it very cosy and snugly warm here and, out of gratitude for it, was spreading grey-tigered fur hairs all over it. A barely perceptible smile appeared on d'Artagnan's lips. Fortuna, or one of her daughters, still occupied a secret place in the Prime Minister's otherwise seemingly cold heart and purred for his affection.

For the former lieutenant of the Musketeers, however, Richelieu had no meekness or safe haven to offer, but a heavy rather than caressing hand for her. »I am not surprised.«

D'Artagnan stood to attention, staring at a point behind Richelieu, at the leather-bound spine of one of the many codices on the shelf. She noted the reproach coolly, without asking for pardon a second time. »Monseigneur.«

»But I am surprised by your presence as such. You would have had the opportunity to leave Paris incognito.«

D'Artagnan crossed her gaze with Richelieu, an angry gleam in her eyes that she tried to hide behind lowered lids a little too late. The cardinal noticed it all the same and was far better able to hide his own satisfied smile at it behind a stern expression. The former lieutenant of the musketeers was not broken by recent events, not prostrated and fallen prey to feminine weakness, but as hot-headed and strong-willed as ever. Directed in the right channels, these traits would be useful in the future.

For the moment, however, her rebellion was directed at him and she answered the insinuation, that she had been expected to cowardly desert, as she said, »My father once told me not to be offended by anyone except the King and the Cardinal - and I should serve Monseigneur with my life as well as His Majesty.«

Richelieu raised his brows. Truly an impressive woman to dare to make such impertinent speeches before him. Only her naïve frankness, her quite honest boldness, kept him from removing her from his service immediately, before he ended up making himself an enemy, as had once been the fate of a much more dangerous schemer, Milady de Winter.

»Your father is a wise man and serve, you will. As of today, you are a soldier in the ranks of my palace guard.« He took a document from a pile of similar papers. Rochefort had returned the conscription order yesterday, having failed to deliver it to its recipient. He had nevertheless not failed in keeping d'Artagnan in town, and so the cardinal completed the document with a few strokes of the quill. »A promotion is appropriate for the change of regiment.«

The paper soaked up the ink and when Richelieu looked up, he was met with a reluctant expression. D'Artagnan could not be bought by a promotion; her loyalty was not to be obtainable for titles or money. He smiled thinly. »However, your tardiness against my orders necessitates a probationary period. You are demoted to a mere guardsman.«

D'Artagnan heard in dismay that her commission had been taken and said between gritted teeth, »Understood.«

»You will prove yourself again until I decide that you are to be given back your status as lieutenant. Perhaps even more than that.«

With this vague promise, the cardinal handed over the conscription order. D'Artagnan accepted it hesitantly, without examining it more closely. It disappeared into an inner pocket of her coat, with gestures so ponderously that it was obvious that not all words had been said.

Instead of sending her to her superior, Richelieu allowed his new guardsman to speak. D'Artagnan struggled with herself and felt visibly uncomfortable at having to reveal something very personal. »As a lieutenant, as an officer, it's like this... My comrades keep a low profile and don't ask many questions.«

What she refused to say frankly, was all the more oppressive between the lines. The cardinal was not moved by this, not even a little, to negotiate the demotion. »You are resourceful enough to come to terms with the situation. You have done it before as a cadet among cadets.«

»Yes, Monseigneur.«

»Report to your superior officer!« With an imperious gesture, Richelieu shooed her out and d'Artagnan obeyed before the order was fully spoken.

She should not have been surprised to find that not only the two guardsmen on duty were waiting for her return at the door to the antechamber. Sorel was also still standing there, eyeing her expectantly. D'Artagnan struggled to keep a neutral expression and glanced at Meunier and Forgeron. Complete distrust spoke from their attitudes. Great, this was how she has imagined it. It would be cheerful weeks among enemies, always exposed to the danger that her secret would be seen through, that her true identity would be revealed. Richelieu had made it clear that she could not count on his intercession in this case.

Perhaps she should have fled while she still had the chance.

»Monsieur le lieutenant?« asked Sorel. He seemed to expect new orders and d'Artagnan hesitated. Lieutenant? Did they still not know that as of today she served as the lowest soldier of their ranks? Richelieu had probably indeed passed his sentence about her just in the last few minutes. That she did not completely resist her conscription has surprised even the cardinal. That was another reason why the Red Guard did not yet know about this new recruit. Bah!

For the moment, d'Artagnan still left the men believing she was the lieutenant of the Musketeers to ask, »Where do I find your superior officer?«

Sorel continued to look at her, not intimidated by her brusque tone, but considering. He seemed more shrewd than his comrades, who remained stubbornly silent. He, on the other hand, was able to put one and one together, perhaps he had heard rumours about a new recruit. »If you don't refer to Captain Luchaire, then Jussac is in the guardroom.«

D'Artagnan forced out a half-loud, »Thanks.« Yes, she meant Jussac. The Red Guard numbered several hundred, soon a thousand men on horseback or on foot, plus sergeants, ensigns and lieutenants a dime a dozen. But the carefully selected palace troops were first and foremost under Jussac's command, right after the captain, of course. ...and where was this guardroom?

»I'll lead you.« Sorel caught a surprised look from his comrades and waved it off. Apparently he was not only bright, but also capable of making his own decisions. »That'll be all right, Cahusac's at the gate.«

Meunier frowned but did not comment further. Forgeron, too, eventually dismissed it with a nod. It was fine with them if a supposed musketeer walked through the palace only under surveillance.

D'Artagnan waited impatiently until Sorel took the lead again and followed half a step behind him. She watched him and tried to judge him. He walked in good spirits, still unscathed by the years of war, without the bitterness or cynicism often found in veteran soldiers. Sorel seemed at peace with the world and expected only the best for himself; in contrast to his companion, who found her own future grey and full of odds.

D'Artagnan countered her trepidation by demanding more gruffly than necessary, »Just tell me which way to go! I'll find the guardroom by myself.«

»Certainly, Monsieur, you would.« Still, Sorel would not let her go alone.

D'Artagnan silently congratulated herself on her assessment. This Sorel was no fool and had been well drilled. She had seen many recruits come and go in recent years, trained them herself, put the finishing touches to them. Some had been promoted, changed regiments and surpassed d'Artagnan in rank, as she herself had never aspired to anything more than being Tréville's lieutenant.

Sorel, too, was one of those promising men who would make their own way, who already had the officer's patent half in their pocket, provided they would not fall in battle before. Now he gave her a sideways glance that showed understandable interest and not mere suspicion, as had been the case with his comrades. D'Artagnan had to fear any curiosity and therefore nip it in the bud. She looked back so grimly that Sorel swallowed all questions and concentrated only on the way.

The guardroom seemed to be an arsenal at the same time. While the guardsmen only carried a pistol discreetly concealed under their tunic when on duty, the muskets were deposited here in the hall in case of danger. A tiled fireplace dominated the back wall, in front of it were rows of wooden tables and benches, with simple chairs in between. D'Artagnan noticed a game of cards lying on one of the tables, dices on another. Meals also seemed to be served here, as a few bowls and cups left standing showed.

At the moment, there was no one on call here. Perhaps the changing of the guard had just begun or the men were gathering in the courtyard for morning roll call. At one of the back tables, close to the fireplace, sat the lieutenant of the regiment, engrossed in a slim book.

D'Artagnan silently indicated to Sorel that she might well manage the last few steps without an escort. The guardsman withdrew without objection, apparently he really still believed in her higher rank. D'Artagnan waited until the door closed behind her before she took a breath and then stepped deeper into the guardroom.

Jussac did not make a move to indicate that he has noticed her presence. He seemed completely absorbed in his reading and did not look up even when d'Artagnan remained standing only two steps away from him. Moments passed when she wondered whether she should either brazenly draw attention to herself or continue to disparage herself by waiting for a sign from the gracious lieutenant.

Jussac, however, only turned the page.

D'Artagnan could not read the title of the book, but now she spotted a page with the anatomical drawing of a dog and some explanations. The text seemed to have been written in Latin and immediately d'Artagnan's interest hit rock bottom. She cleared her throat.

»Heaven forbid, who-« Jussac snorted over the book, but he finished the question in disbelief, »-you?!« when he recognised the disturber.

D'Artagnan could not blame him. Nor was she pleased to be here, standing at attention and getting it over and done with in one quick and painless sentence. »Reportingforduty, Sir!«

Jussac's look on his face was almost worth it. Consternation was too mild an expression for what spoke from his gaze. The lieutenant blinked several times and seemed to find out whether he had just understood correctly. D'Artagnan remained silent and examined a point just past the left earlobe of her new superior. A tile by the fireplace had a crack. No one moved.

Finally, Jussac very slowly put the book on the table and said with severe self-control, »If this is supposed to be a joke, you are showing a very bad sense of humour, and if it is not a joke, God hates me enough by now to send you to me as a permanent nuisance.«

When d'Artagnan did not reply, Jussac stood up and stepped close to her. »Tell me this is a joke!«

It was not the threatening undertone alone that kept d'Artagnan silent. She pulled herself together not to flinch from the unpleasant presence of the lieutenant, hoping he would be fooled by her disguise even up close. There was nothing to say, the forced eye contact was enough to make Jussac understand.

»It is you, who Rochefort has announced.«

So the stable master had not kept quiet about a new recruit for the Red Guard after all, but who it would be. Without waiting for confirmation, Jussac brusquely turned towards the fireplace, grabbed the poker and poked into the embers. For the sake of her own health, d'Artagnan did not comment on this either. It would have been an inglorious end to be killed with a poker on the very first day. Or, in self-defence, to run a sword through her superior who now asked with gritted teeth, »What rank?«

»Pardon?«

»What rank do you hold?!« Jussac shouted and it must have been heard all the way to the door. The lieutenant of the guardsmen did not care, he was too angry. Perhaps he was getting on the wrong side of his captain-to-be? Luchaire had talked often enough in the last months about taking his well-deserved retirement. Jussac should have succeeded him, but of course, that damn Gascon meddled in his affairs now and outranked him.

»... common soldier,« d'Artagnan finally replied. She was not sure if Jussac has heard her, because the lieutenant was still standing very tense and was staring into the ember. She controlled herself not to have to endure Jussac's slow-working mind too impatiently.

Now the lieutenant hung the poker back up, but did not turn around when he ordered, »Report to the armourer and then to the roll call in the courtyard.«

»Yes, S-!«

»Immediately!«

Well, this was going great, her self-chosen mission was never, ever doomed to fail on the very first day! Without further confirmation, without a salute, d'Artagnan marched out of the guardroom. She had barely slammed the door behind her when loud rumbling could be heard from inside. Jussac was probably venting his anger on the furniture. Better than on her or on Rochefort, who, along with Tréville, was to blame for all this.

The noise did not escape the small group of guardsmen who had just arrived. D'Artagnan saw Sorel among them, who was looking back at her questioningly. Sooner or later she had to face her new comrades and put up with their ridicule and contempt. D'Artagnan decided for 'sooner' and approached the guardsmen. But suddenly she was grabbed by the arm and barked at, »Don't you hurry!«

She instinctively broke free and backed away ready to fight, one hand on her sword, before she recognised Bernajoux alongside Biscarat. Both men eyed her hostilely without taking up arms themselves. If it had not been for their friend Jussac, they would never have treated an officer, for whom they still had to mistook d'Artagnan, in such a way.

»What were you doing in there?« Biscarat did all the talking while Bernajoux flexed his muscles. In an almost absurd way, d'Artagnan felt reminded of Aramis and Porthos. However, she had little desire to mess again with every man on her first day and to fight duels.

»Ask Jussac!« she replied enraged and passed the two guardsmen. They let her go unmolested, perhaps they were too surprised by her behaviour. Even Sorel seemed to be hurriedly looking for an escape route when he realised that d'Artagnan was heading right for him. However, he bravely stood his ground as he was barked at, »Armourer!«

Sorel nodded and again led d'Artagnan to the requested destination. This time he remained silent, disillusioned, if not disappointed. Bernajoux, Biscarat and even the taciturn Cahusac had repeatedly raked over old war stories and told them to their younger comrades; and although or perhaps even because they were enemies, the lieutenant of the musketeers also appeared in these stories. They spoke of d'Artagnan with respect, about courage and fighting skills. About battles and duels won. About d'Artagnan's loyalty, which suddenly seemed to have turned to betrayal, to cowardice, which destroyed all those stories.

Of course, d'Artagnan had no idea of these reflections, otherwise she might have told Sorel a completely different story by a glass of good wine. About escaping a forced marriage, about her best friends. About the protection a commission offers, about freedom. About farewells and unexpected twists.

But instead, d'Artagnan struggled with fate and welcomed the silence.