Chapter 19
Usually, good news as well as bad reached the study of the Captain of the Musketeers immediately, without long delays. Especially if it was a report of a quarrel with His Eminence's Red Guard. Tréville would have the matter told to him, scolded his men with gasconian temperament and secret pride. Afterwards he would leave for the Louvre to humiliate the cardinal even more in front of the king with clever words, by placing all the blame on the guardsmen and praising the musketeers.
This morning, things were different. The report had already reached Tréville last night and by now Pauger was in custody, with no hope of the captain's intercession. His friends had been acquitted, none of them had wielded the dagger. But they had not stopped him either. Their one piece of luck was that Pauger had only hit some guardsman and not directly d'Artagnan.
All the other musketeers were subdued, doing their duty and not making any loud mouthed demands for the release of their comrade. For once, Richelieu had prevailed before His Majesty, for Tréville had not appeared for the trial.
The captain was in a foul mood, no one dared to speak to him, not even a neutral visitor or supplicant. Not even his adjutant, who had his hands full with dampening the angry atmosphere at headquarters, calming the men down when necessary and speaking a word of power when an insurrection was threatening to break out. Duprés enjoyed respect and yet it was not easy for him to keep things running smoothly in the regiment, to put off guests for another day and at the same time to temper the invective against the cardinal.
In the eyes of the Musketeers, the Red Guard was responsible, the fight had been provoked by them, Tréville had been unjustly denied a hearing by His Majesty, Pauger was innocent in arrest. No one knew what had really happened. No guardsman should have dared to enter this seething cauldron of barely contained rage and hostility against everyone who wore a red uniform. Especially not one who had once been a musketeer, their lieutenant even, and whose betrayal ought to be the trigger for all this.
D'Artagnan was not so suicidal as to try nevertheless and hope that the men would remember what their second in command might have meant to them in the past. She thought of another plan to keep her promise to Elise and Bernajoux. Many years ago, a young woman had once appeared in the hôtel when things looked similarly bad and no one else had been allowed to see Tréville and appeal to his conscience. At that time, she had used a false name, Madame Catherine Chesnay. Today, this ruse seemed useful to her again in order to get in and out of the headquarters unharmed.
Madeleine had not asked why her friend wanted to borrow a dress again. She probably had her own thoughts on the matter and had only urged caution at the parting, when the disguise was put on and the shoulder-length hair was hidden under a bonnet.
D'Artagnan heeded this advice. Once, as Catherine Chesnay, she had walked confidently through the main gate into the courtyard, ignoring the whispering and many a broad grin, and climbed the stairs to the study. An argument had broken out there, a musketeer had cheekily stood in her way and Aramis and Porthos had had to intervene.
To avoid such annoyances from the start, d'Artagnan sneaked into the hôtel today through the servants' entrance. No one stopped her, she looked like an ordinary maid and she moved through the spacious house as confidently as if she had always belonged here. There was too much work to be done, too many tasks for the servants to perform, to spend much time wondering about this fetching mademoiselle. Later on, they could have wondered whether a mistress or even a spy of the cardinal had gained access to the house. But since Adjutant Duprés himself took care of the pretended maid and let her enter the study without a word, everything was fine.
D'Artagnan spotted the adjutant in the antechamber. Before that, she had moved through the hôtel as unseen as possible, ignoring any feeling of fierce homesickness that tried to well up inside her at the familiar impressions. All those uniforms, the well-known faces, the crude jokes, the mock fights on the middle staircase landing, the anecdotes and dice games - she almost stayed on the gallery above the entrance hall, would have leaned against the banister as she used to and taken in the image to keep it like a treasure. But she did not. The tense atmosphere beneath the surface, the irritation and anger were almost palpable in the air and drove d'Artagnan to hurry before a musketeer would have confronted her.
Duprés noticed her as soon as she turned into the corridor leading to the antechamber. It was deserted, where otherwise soldiers, messengers and visitors would have come and gone. It was obvious that Tréville was not available to anyone and Duprés took care that it stayed that way. D'Artagnan continued on her way all the more determinedly, keeping the adjutant at bay with glances from afar. He should not even think of trying to get rid of her!
Duprés did nothing of the sort. He only eyed her with a raised eyebrow and then, when d'Artagnan reached him and was already about to introduce herself as Mademoiselle Batz and explain her presence, he simply took a step to the side and cleared the door. He did not want to hear her name or know her reasons.
D'Artagnan felt endlessly stupid. Stupid, and seen through with ease by Duprés who was not only closest to the captain in all duties but also to the lieutenant.
Embarrassed and somewhat shy, but also immensely grateful for his silence now and at all times, she bowed her head to him. Duprés smiled barely perceptibly and this changed his face altogether, from the serious and unemotional officer to a benevolent, almost fatherly expression. Then he turned abruptly away and strode to the gallery to take care of things at the hôtel, leaving Tréville to his lieutenant, how they had always divided the tasks among themselves.
For a moment, d'Artagnan looked after him and felt encouraged in her intention, honoured also by the trust. She raised her hand to the latch, took another deep breath and then opened the door without first making herself known by knocking. She forgot this courtesy above her own determination to finally have a long-delayed conversation. Tréville's visit to her home a few evenings before had only skimmed the surface, but in the meantime new matters had arisen to explore the depths. D'Artagnan no longer ran from it and slipped into the study.
The room was a familiar sight, as if it had not been weeks since she had last been here. The desk was as laden with mountains of documents as ever. Even the paperweight was there, staring with glass lion eyes at the visitor instead of having disappeared forever into a drawer. To the right, the grandfather clock ticked steadily, the tiled fireplace flue pleasantly warming the room. The windows on the other side faced the inner courtyard and their number and size were sufficient to avoid having to light candles or oil lamps for enough light even on a gloomy day like today.
Tréville was standing there, with his back to her and had not yet noticed d'Artagnan's entrance. He was leaning against the window frame and it almost seemed as if he was about to rest his head wearily on his arm while he watched the courtyard without really seeing it. He gave a very unfamiliar impression, unacknowledged weakness and deep thoughtfulness. How long had he been standing there, his mien indurated over his circling thoughts? Obviously he had spent a night no less bad than d'Artagnan did and was still struggling with the world outside and his own, inner demons.
D'Artagnan quietly shut the door and came closer. However cautiously she put one foot in front of the other, her steps could still be heard on the wooden, creaking parquet floor and Tréville turned around in surprise. For a brief moment, there was confusion written on his face, then sudden realisation and with two long strides he reached her and took her hands as if he had to make sure of her very presence.
»Ventredieu, you are unharmed!«
This time, d'Artagnan did not immediately withdraw her hands, completely frozen by the great relief with which Tréville welcomed her. He looked as if he had expected the worst and never wanted to let go of her. Everything else was meaningless to him right now.
It infuriated her and quietly, in a voice trembling with anger, she said, »Indeed, I am unharmed.«
Tréville was warned. Whatever he might have hoped for with her appearance in his study, he immediately hid all feelings behind an inapproachable mask. D'Artagnan's hands slipped unresistingly out of his as he stepped back and eyed her more thoroughly. She looked weary like himself, had dark shadows under her eyes that seemed to have deepened over the last few weeks. Her face had always been too soft, too feminine for a soldier, and balanced out by an all the more angular character. Similarly, she wore the dress just like another uniform, so as not to look too vulnerable.
It was not Charlotte de Batz but Lieutenant d'Artagnan who had come to him and she was not here to make peace - but to take sides with the Cardinal's Guard, as she now did unambiguously. »Keep your Musketeers under control if you care so much for my welfare! We both know against whom this attack was really directed!«
Tréville could not tolerate the rebuke of a subordinate, and since d'Artagnan was here in that capacity only, he fired back no less angrily, »You only think you know it all! The contempt after your transfer could easily have been prevented.«
D'Artagnan was already opening her mouth to contradict, but Tréville brushed aside any objection. He had chosen harsh words and yet they corresponded to what the men thought of their former lieutenant. Which had crossed his mind all too often himself. Why had she not said, back in the Bastille when Rochefort and he were arrested, that the king had demanded her head if the truth about the duel was not told? She had consciously decided against it, she had voluntarily chosen to join the Red Guard and he still failed to understand why. »You were the one who kept silent in that cell and chose the consequences of it yourself!«
»You're right,« answered d'Artagnan briefly. »I was aware of the consequences if I didn't tell you and Rochefort about this bet the king made with the cardinal.«
»The impression remains, and the contempt for it, that you wanted to defect to the Red Guard by choice.«
»That's not true! I haven't betrayed you; I never could!« D'Artagnan shook her head, depressing the tears that were trying to gather in her eyes. »It was blackmail! My life put in the balance. Nothing else but that threat could have forced you to confess the truth about that duel. Not even His Majesty could demand that of me!«
Tréville sighed in defeat at the unnecessary sacrifice of his lieutenant. His loyal, stupid d'Artagnan, who still failed to understand. »It was never yours, it would have been my choice to allow myself to be blackmailed.«
»Would you have told the truth?«
Tréville hesitated and that was answer enough for d'Artagnan. She nodded composed yet quite churned up inside. »So on that day, I would have been relieved of my duties with the Musketeers and transferred to the Cardinal's Red Guard. Whether I had given in to blackmail or not.«
»...it could not have been prevented.« Tréville admitted to himself his error. No matter how he would have decided or acted, he would always have lost in that audience hall. Even with the truth, which would have exposed d'Artagnan and deprived her of her rank and freedom. She alone would have been blamed for everything, not him. Her, the vicious woman who would have wormed her way not only into the Corps of Musketeers but into his heart and mind to corrupt him. All her merits, her good deeds would have been meaningless against this accusation.
His silence had led to a similarly bad outcome. The blame and responsibility lay with him and d'Artagnan had every right to demand an end to the hostilities against the Red Guard and herself. He nodded. »Pauger will remain in arrest until a sentence is passed upon him. I will not avert that fate from him.«
»You won't?« D'Artagnan listened in surprise. The captain of the musketeers always stood behind his men. They cherished and revered him for it and trembled before him like pupils before the teacher when he had to scold them.
The trembling would probably soon come over them, for he said, »That will be sign and lesson enough to the other Musketeers.«
»I thank you, mon capitaine.«
The conversation could have ended here. D'Artagnan had kept her promise and taken care of the matter. But there was more, away from official matters. Tréville seemed quite remorseful and approachable to her; perhaps it was time to demand the truth. Rochefort had hinted loudly enough, if she ever wanted to know more about this duel, to end this dispute, then the captain would have to explain it to her. Hell, Rochefort had spelt it out for her that she finally had to talk openly with Tréville!
So instead of saying her goodbyes with a polite greeting, d'Artagnan turned her gaze to the desk, to the chairs, one of which with the green upholstery had once belonged to her. She had sat there when there was some writing to be done, opposite Tréville. They had enjoyed each other's company while doing tedious paperwork.
The captain took the hint and made an inviting gesture. He exaggerated with a very gallant bow to the female visitor and d'Artagnan accepted all the more graciously, with equal irony. It was only teasing, she told herself, and waited for Tréville to move her chair and take a seat opposite her. Four cubits of desk apart, d'Artagnan felt brave enough to open the conversation. »Vicomte de Lécuyer has not been arrested, I was assured in a credible manner. He will soon leave the Palais Cardinal again.«
»I can almost imagine who is in a position to give such assurances to you.«
»Rochefort,« d'Artagnan confirmed, getting to the heart of the matter. »He has shown me a letter of recommendation, written by your hand. Is that it? The marriage policy of the family of Nièvre, and therefore of those of Richelieu, in which you have meddled?«
»Easy to see through, and yet you are wrong.« Tréville folded his hands on the table and thus gained some time to think carefully about his next words. D'Artagnan was waiting for an explanation and he would no longer get away with excuses. »Not interference in other people's affairs, it was an offer.«
»For what?«
»I promised you I would find a way.«
D'Artagnan blinked in astonishment. A... prisoner exchange? Her for Lécuyer? »Because of me?«
»Yes.«
For a while, only the steady ticking of the grandfather clock could be heard, while d'Artagnan continued to stare at Tréville, who in turn was examining a scratch in the tabletop with great interest. Because of her, a patron of the Musketeers had got into an unpleasant situation? Had Jussac almost been shot? Had Sorel been stabbed down? Was Pauger in prison?
»You can't be serious!«
»Well...« Tréville braced himself for a terrible tantrum, but it never happened. D'Artagnan's hot temper only expressed itself with flushed cheeks and a vivid sparkle in her eyes. Fortunately, she did not know that Lécuyer had been a diversion to actually position Fernand Baron de Grinchamps as a marriage candidate. Otherwise she would have come closer to him now than ever before, namely to strangle him.
He cleared his throat. »Since Lécuyer will be free, my offer wasn't good enough.«
»Make no further offer.« D'Artagnan voiced no request; it was an order. She nodded emphatically as Tréville frowned. »I have not taken all this upon myself, so that after all you let yourself be blackmailed. Or that others too could suffer. I will persevere with the Red Guard, Richelieu shall not win!«
»Has he not already?«
»How should he? You make a great secret of this duel, Rochefort is equally silent about it.« She hesitated. Maybe the stable master himself did not know and d'Artagnan had been tricked into finding it out for him. Oh, how naïve she could be! »Even the cardinal can only conjecture what was ultimately behind this and thinks of me as an useful bargaining chip. I will not allow that! Please, don't give him any further advantages against you.«
She almost convinced Tréville. It would have been easy for him to continue to keep d'Artagnan in ignorance because she chose to do so voluntarily. Because she put her well-being aside, just for him. He did not deserve it, he just did not deserve this woman!
»This cursed duel, ventredieu!« He threw his hands up to keep from tearing his hair out over his own foolishness, the mistakes he had made, and he murmured without looking at her, »Forgive me...«
»Huh? We talked about that outside my lodging, there's nothing to forgive,« d'Artagnan said, noticeably confused. She almost felt for his hand herself now, to reassure him and make it clear that everything was fine between them.
But Tréville leaned back in his chair as if to create the greatest possible distance between them. With arduous self-control he said, »My duel with Rochefort had nothing, not the slightest thing, to do with the eternal quarrel between Richelieu and me! That cursed master spy wouldn't have found out anything he wasn't supposed to know. There was nothing for which I had to challenge him to force his silence. There was nothing, not the slightest thing, but I fool misread it!«
»Oh?«
»Yes, 'oh'. It's much more banal than that, much more stupid. I was much more stupid. Don't you understand?«
But d'Artagnan did not understand, her face continued to show nothing but sweet confusion and Tréville wanted to equally yell at her as catch her in his arms because of that. Instead, he reached for the glass lion's head that stood halfway between them, reliably guarding the letters. He lifted it and fished out of all the papers from the very bottom a note, a dispatch with Rochefort's handwriting. A message that had been addressed to d'Artagnan many weeks ago, an appointment at an usual time, in an usual place. A meeting that could be misinterpreted as a tryst.
The note lay open and accusatory on the desk. D'Artagnan needed not take it to recognise it immediately. Here she had lost it without even noticing. Tréville had found it and... She slowly raised her eyes. »That is the reason?«
»I was afraid,« Tréville confessed tonelessly, »that Rochefort might take you away from me. But in the end, I achieved that all by myself.«
D'Artagnan almost burst out laughing, but it would have been a very bitter laugh and it stuck in her throat. Jealousy? It was as simple as that? Truly banal and stupid!
She jerked to her feet but then remained standing in front of the desk instead of storming out of the study. It was unbelievable and... and so unnecessary! »Tell me, what should I still hang in for?!«
Tréville ducked his head guiltily in face of her wrath. D'Artagnan would not let him off so easily. He did not have to hope that his defeat would turn into victory after all with the late confession! »I cannot come back! You won't find a way I wanted to go. It's too late!«
Tréville sank deeper into his armchair; rarely had a rejection hit him harder. D'Artagnan was unattainable for him. She had never appeared here for his sake, but to put an end to this feud between musketeers and guardsmen, before there would be incessant retaliation from both sides. He had granted her that, perhaps as a parting gift without suspecting it.
With the last vestige of his dignity, he pulled himself together and used an outwardly impassive façade, which he could almost believe in himself. »If that is your decision, I will accept it.«
For the duration of a blink, d'Artagnan looked uncertain, as if regretting her words in retrospect and wanting to take them back. Tréville slammed the door shut definitely. »You are already wearing the appropriate travelling clothes.«
»I will not leave Paris!«
»So you're staying with the Red Guard?« Tréville noticed her hesitation before d'Artagnan shrugged, thereby neither clearly agreeing nor refusing. His face darkened. »Are you going to declare war on me?«
»No, never! Be assured that I shall always be in friendship with you without rancour.«
»Is that so?«
D'Artagnan had brought the cool reply on herself and it pained her heart that it had to end like this. But she held on to her decision. She could not go back to the Musketeers after all the hostility, after the attack yesterday, or to a captain whom she had unintentionally ruined. It was, no matter what Tréville had done, her fault too. She had become his Achilles' heel. The cardinal had only realised it sooner and turned down an initial offer to expect better ones. She could thwart these plans by voluntarily remain with the Red Guard and deprive Tréville of all hope that there was still a way back.
Tréville waited in vain for an answer, but d'Artagnan remained silent, as she all too often tended to do when she wanted to keep her true thoughts and feelings hidden. He knew her far too well and wished it were not so. He wished she would finally go and leave him alone.
He could have dismissed her harshly now and thus completed the break between them. Instead, against his better judgment, for her sake only, he relented. »In friendship, so be it.«
He had heard the phrase to stay friends too many times in his life from other women to believe it anymore. But d'Artagnan did, as a shy, barely perceptible smile revealed.
Her lips formed a silent »Thank you« and an »Adieu«, then she walked out of the study in a hurry, leaving a hard-to-bear void on the chair with the green upholstery and in the heart of her former captain.
