Chapter 15

True to his grim promise not to just continue to watch the suffering of a friend, Rochefort had not remained idle in the last few days. He could not say whether he had hoped more that Tréville would not do anything stupid - or exactly that he would. In the end, the die was cast and Rochefort was carrying a letter that one of his agents has intercepted.

It was a harmless correspondence, a letter of recommendation to the Duc de la Nièvre. Kind words about the Vicomte de Lécuyer; affluent, of nobility and intellect, a good match for the duke's daughter. But he was also a fierce opponent of the cardinal, a troublesome future family member, a spirit of contradiction. That was not what the letter said, but it was the intention behind it.

No less deliberately, the letter has been played into Rochefort's hands. The messenger who carried it had not been particularly attentive. It was a pinprick against Richelieu or the initiation of a trade. It was up to the cardinal to decide how to assess the matter, as an attack or as an offer. Rochefort was on his way to His Eminence's study to find out and act accordingly.

Richelieu looked pale, haggard and overtired. Nevertheless, he sat upright at the desk and with an imperious gesture beckoned his stable master to step closer, who was hesitant on the threshold.

Rochefort obeyed and did not address the Prime Minister's frail health with a syllable or even a worried expression. Richelieu was often of weak constitution, he seemed to have survived a bad night between fever and cough. Nevertheless, he allowed himself no respite from his duties and accepted the transcript of the letter, which had first been secretly stolen from the messenger and then slipped back to him, with pale fingers.

Rochefort overlooked the barely perceptible tremor that afflicted the cardinal as he read and which made the paper tremble in his hands. Instead, he eyed the small, sealed vial of amber glass that stood next to a cup of warmed wine on the desk. Apparently a doctor had already been here, leaving medicine and lots of good advice. Rochefort could not tell if the medicine had been left untouched or used yet, a label saying Thymus vulgaris plantago lanceolata hid the level. Thyme and ribwort. Possibly Richelieu also tried to cure himself with old home remedies to avoid any contact with the doctors.

The cardinal's face was unmoved as he studied the letter attentively. Only at the signature did the corners of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. Rochefort could not tell whether he saw mockery or triumph there, perhaps neither, but amusement at the audacity of a Monsieur de Tréville. In any case, it was not surprise and Richelieu's voice was devoid of anger when he stated, »So let the games begin.«

»Monseigneur?« Rochefort was not asking for an explanation, but requested further instructions.

»A high stake, the Vicomte de Lécuyer.« Richelieu leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together. »A distinguished guest at royal court, descended from a respectable family. He harbours no public enmity against us. So what is going on in privacy?«

»More or less privately, he cultivates friendships in the opposition, but one cannot immediately addresses reproaches to him because of that. At present, he is in Paris, in his Hôtel.«

»A personal audience would be appropriate. Deliver my invitation to the vicomte!«

»A courteous invitation?«

»An explicit one.«

Rochefort bowed. In other words, an arrest if the vicomte was not comply voluntarily. Lécuyer was taken out of the game immediately after his appearance, for Richelieu has decided to consider the letter an attack. The offer was not good enough, but it was still worth reviewing. Possibly, after this 'personal audience', a whole new situation arose of which only Tréville had hitherto been aware. »I will instruct Lieutenant Jussac to deliver the invitation.«

»Good.« Richelieu was satisfied, but he did not dismiss Rochefort yet. »Our newest guardsman will join the squad.«

Rochefort blinked. »D'Artagnan?«

»Are you questioning my order?« Richelieu asked less lurking than interested in Rochefort's opinion. He demanded an assessment of d'Artagnan's mind, whether she has since given up her rebellion, whether she has become part of the Red Guard or would refuse to obey the order and rather go to prison than stab her former captain in the back; for nothing less was required of her if she was to be involved in the so-called 'explicit invitation', the arrest of one of Tréville's friend.

It was a trap, a counterattack, and Rochefort did not know what would happen. He had not spoken to d'Artagnan for too long, only observed from the background. For a few days now, her relationship with the guardsmen, her status in the regiment, seemed to have improved. Jussac finally let her take part in the usual duties of the Red Guard. He had not heard of any punishments or reprimands since then; Rochefort's little talk with the lieutenant had made an impact.

But how d'Artagnan perceived things, what she thought or felt, was unknown to him. Now he regretted the loss of their once trusting friendship all the more and he belatedly replied, »No, Monseigneur, Jussac will be able to handle any kind of situation.«

»I see.« Any satisfaction on the cardinal's part seemed to be wiped away by the inconclusive answer. He reached for the cup and suppressed the rising urge to cough with a few deep gulps of wine. He frowned at the bitter taste of the herbal essences and put the cup back. »Then this shall be the last trial during the probationary period.«

»D'Artagnan will pass, Milord.«

»Lord, indeed, Lord God! You utter half a prayer!« Richelieu folded his hands humbly, the sleeves of his soutane slipping over his fingers. »Leave these things to me; your talents are others.«

Rochefort nodded, there was nothing else to say. Again, it was out of his hands, he could only hope for a good outcome. If in doubt, his talent lay in secretly observing the arrest and then obliging all the guardsmen involved to keep quiet about the misdeeds of one of them. Or to smuggle a friend out of town incognito if things went badly.

In a sombre mood, he left the study to find Jussac.


The Red Guard had been allocated a small courtyard within the Palais Cardinal, close to the utility rooms, where they could hold their daily weapons exercises. Riding, shooting and fencing were only the most obvious disciplines. The knightly training also included climbing, wrestling and, yes, dancing and courting. The latter could be put to the test on the maids and ladies-in-waiting, who more or less furtively watched the men in the courtyard, giggling and blushing, but always quite shy or terribly offended if a guardsman got too cheeky.

The courtyard was located separately enough so that the noise and bustle from there did not disturb the noble society of the palace. The guards were at best as invisible as the servants, but nevertheless present enough to speak of the power and influence of the master of the house. The stables were close by, the scent of straw and dung wafted across, giving the courtyard, if you closed your eyes and just let the sounds and smells wash over you, an atmosphere like that of a military camp.

Rochefort's gaze roamed over the assembled garrison. As far as he knew, Jussac was supposed to be here, drilling the guardsmen in the use of arms. He spotted the lieutenant at an area that has been marked out in the rear according to purpose and security and was used for firing practice.

Jussac watched his guardsmen closely, gave them instructions for a better stance, to raise and lower their muskets. He did not order them to fire. The muskets were placed on the forks for target practice over notch and bead sights, but not loosed off. The smoke would soon have obscured vision, the pungent gunpowder fume would have made breathing difficult and each shot would have painfully deafened the ears. In addition, there would have been the turmoil that the gunfire would have caused among the residents, because they would have believed themselves besieged and under attack.

So the guardsmen mainly practised the correct stance and handling, the loading and cleaning of the pistols as well. Shooting was done with crossbows if it was actually about hitting the straw bags that were hung up as targets. Musket thundering was basically nothing more than gambling while in a real battle. But luck could also be helped if flawless aiming and hitting were exercised beforehand.

Rochefort hesitated, hidden in the shadow of the portico that led around the courtyard. He has spotted d'Artagnan in a group of other guardsmen practising fencing. Blades sprang forward, clashed and were wielded as fiercely as if it were a real fight. Rochefort was not surprised by the fact that d'Artagnan excelled in her favourite discipline and did not lose any of the duels. He had been able to experience first-hand several times in the past that she was a superb fencer. What she had already mastered with talent and skill in her youth had been perfected through experience.

Therefore, Rochefort was not amazed by her ability, but that the men willingly watched and let d'Artagnan teach them a parry, a feint, a counterattack and such like. They listened appreciatively and respectfully to a lieutenant. Just as if d'Artagnan had taken over part of Jussac's duties, as if she had always been here to turn fumbling heroes into real, useful soldiers. She appeared to thrive in it anew, all the burden of the last weeks seemed to have fallen off her, she had finally found her way back into her vocation. Perhaps, Rochefort mused, Richelieu has very deliberately chosen this moment to end the probationary period by a final trial.

Before he could decide to go to Jussac and inform him of the cardinal's order to bring the Vicomte de Lécuyer to the palace, Rochefort remained in place and frowned. Bernajoux joined the duellists, towering over all the other men by a head and d'Artagnan by two. He planted himself in front of her and folded his arms.

Rochefort did not like what he saw brewing there. He suspected wounded vanity, since Bernajoux was considered the best fencer in the Red Guard, which he had proven again and again impressively in the field and in the streets of Paris. He had acquired his scars in fierce battles; he always remained standing, unlike his enemies. Only d'Artagnan had once brought him to his knees, ten years ago. The day of revenge seemed to have come. Before his comrades as witnesses, Bernajoux would not lose again.

He has not yet spoken a word. His face said it all, although it remained completely stoic. He waited and appraised d'Artagnan, who in turn gripped her sword more firmly and did not retreat.

The other guardsmen formed a circle without any discussion, and Rochefort suddenly broke into it and put an end to a war before it could even begin. He placed himself between d'Artagnan and Bernajoux as if he has not been aware that he was breaking unspoken rules. In the utmost haste he ordered Bernajoux, »Fetch me Lieutenant Jussac!«

There was a flash of disapproval in Bernajoux' eyes, but after a glance over Rochefort's shoulder at d'Artagnan, he complied, turned on his heel and marched away. The other guardsmen were wise enough to break up their circle and devote themselves to other things, far enough away not to get involved, close enough to be able to eavesdrop.

Rochefort breathed a sigh of relief and turned to d'Artagnan, who was the only one left with him. He raised his brows as he was met with a withering look. Apparently she was only slightly grateful that he has just saved her neck.

»By the Devil«, she greeted him with a curse, »why are you interfering?«

»Now, now! It's not Beelzebub, it's the Cardinal who sends me.«

»Ask me the difference,« d'Artagnan replied quietly enough that none of the guardsmen would have heard. She brushed aside any retort with a gesture. »You need not have Jussac fetched, he stands there quite obvious. So why are you interfering?«

»I may not always have been the best of friends in recent weeks,« Rochefort said calmly, mindful that d'Artagnan still had a sharp blade at the ready. »But is my support really so repugnant to you?«

»Support?« D'Artagnan exclaimed it so dumbfounded that Rochefort was actually in doubt. Had he misinterpreted the situation, misjudged it? Something that happened to him rarely enough. »It looked as if you were to be beheaded.«

D'Artagnan stared at him blankly for moments. Then a smile danced on her lips and became an amused twinkle in her eyes. It was a sight Rochefort has feared never to see again. Her laughter was the nicest thing he has heard in a long time, for it meant forgiveness and the beginning of new friendship.

She finally regained her composure and mockingly rebuked Rochefort, »You don't know much about comradeship and male bonding, and I'm not going to explain it to you. If you want to stand by me, then for the future; indeed, just stand by.«

»Since when do you speak in riddles and I not?«

»Since everything changed. Here comes Jussac.« D'Artagnan pointed past Rochefort, let the sword slide back into the scabbard and took a few steps away so as not to disturb the stable master and lieutenant in their conversation. It had a demonstrative effect and out of the corner of his eye he saw her shrugging at Bernajoux' gaze. Apparently Rochefort really didn't know much about these things and the supposed revenge had been nothing more than an invitation to a comradely trial of strength.

He had no time to ponder any longer how remarkably well his friend seemed to fit into the Red Guard. Jussac had reached him, with a sour expression on his face that was reserved for His Eminence's stable master only. The cardinal's order was quickly delivered and the lieutenant did not even blink when he was ordered to add d'Artagnan to his squad.

Rochefort has thus arranged everything that needed to be discussed. He was no longer wanted here. The fact that he was also no longer needed in some respects made him feel very relieved on the one hand, and on the other hand it worried him in a way he did not want to fathom.

He left to prepare everything for the arrival of the Vicomte de Lécuyer and then no longer stood in the way, but only stood by.


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