Chapter 25

Luchaire had already been informed about d'Artagnan's promotion, she was told in his antechamber by one of the secretaries. Of course, the captain knew of the cardinal's decision before she did, anything else would have been odd. It was nodded off without disapproval, but also without congratulations, and with that the new first lieutenant was dismissed to do her usual duties. The routine of the day remained unchanged, except for the additional command.

It was probably the same with Jussac, he too would have known already; it had been his report that has tipped the scales. Nevertheless, it was only fair to inform the other lieutenant personally. Especially as there was still an extremely unpleasant matter to discuss; as the cardinal had once ordered friendship between d'Artagnan and Rochefort, he equally demanded trust between her and Jussac. There was no reasonable objection to that, except perhaps that of never having been promoted for a shorter period of time - unless you were shot at the very moment you were handed the marshal's baton.

D'Artagnan doubted that a bullet would blow through her chest in the next few minutes. The palace was completely peaceful and far from any battlefield, apart from the political petty wars among the nobles. She refrained from an unnecessary roundabout way to the guardroom. The sooner she got rid of her task, the less she had to worry about the future. Everything would come to an end today and free her; one way or another. Damned cardinal! Richelieu himself obviously could not predict the outcome of her confession, otherwise why would he have made her two offers at once? One of them promised freedom immediately. The other only afterwards. How clever she had felt to choose both!

D'Artagnan scowled at her own naiveté to have challenged the most powerful man in France. At least she had achieved one thing today; she was no longer a bargaining chip against Tréville, there were no more negotiations for her place. Now she was only a constant provocation, somehow always near him and yet far away. Would it be possible to maintain the friendly bond they had promised each other?

She shook off these thoughts at the door to the guardroom and took a deep breath. Now or never! Entering and asking Jussac for a word in private. There was no danger in that yet, and no matter what the outcome, she was carrying a document that would save her from prison and send her home with an annuity. She was on the safe side, Richelieu had granted her that. So why did she hesitate?

D'Artagnan quit staring at the door and turned her gaze furtively to the left and right. The hallway looked deserted. Strange, there should always be a few guardsmen here, on their way to their posts or returning to the guardroom, talking, joking, exchanging anecdotes and news. But everything was quiet, far too quiet. Not even any lackeys were to be seen. Where had everyone disappeared to?

D'Artagnan smiled grimly, then she stretched all her muscles and pushed open the door to the guardroom. She leapt over the threshold ready to fight and instinctively ducked away under gripping arms. An ambush, ha!

She whirled around to face the attackers with her bare fists. She had no chance against the superior force; she was able to trip one opponent over her outstretched leg and push another off her. Then a giant's hand caught her wrist and forced her arm on her back. A kick in the hollow of the knee, a thrust forward and she lay prone on the ground, pinned down and held in place by three men at once.

She wriggled and braced herself with all her might against it, while the howls of triumph of half a regiment erupted around her. D'Artagnan could only just raise her head enough to avoid having to lick the dirt off the floor. Relegated to her place at the bottom, she held still and reluctantly gave up her resistance to the superior force.

»What shall we do with him?«

»Initiation ritual?«

D'Artagnan groaned in defeat, as Biscarat and Bernajoux consulted gleefully about her fate. Cursed rituals! Cursed male bonds! What had she not actually cursed and wished to hell during the last few minutes?

»Horse manure?«

»That old joke is for recruits only.«

»Didn't laugh... last time.« D'Artagnan could only cough the words. »Lemme go!«

Of course they did not let her go, on the contrary they continued to discuss what to do with the captive, what sort of initiation they wanted to put her through in order to respect her as their new officer in the future. She had no choice but to endure it - and concentrate on breathing.

»We could let him be our servant.«

Bernajoux grunted. »Already done that.«

It hadn't been long since the humiliating punishment after the laundry incident and d'Artagnan agreed. She was not in the mood for a repeat. Not that her opinion mattered. But Biscarat, fortunately, seemed to see it similarly and denied it. He sat quite comfortably on her legs while Bernajoux held her arms. The third man in the group had to be Cahusac, who pressed a knee uncomfortably into her back and now spoke in a coarse voice, »Diving.«

The suggestion reached all the way to the back row and, judging by the murmurs, was thought to be not too bad. D'Artagnan could not make the slightest sense of it. Thinking became harder, her chest felt more and more tightened. A single guardsman pushed past his comrades towards the front. He knelt down in an almost protective gesture between her and the men. Sorel, who talked hectically to the others, »It's not the time of year to throw someone naked into one of the river's channels!«

D'Artagnan coughed violently and grasped for air. No, this was absolutely not the best idea they had planned for her! Her throat suddenly felt like constricted, her vision blurred and flickered unsteadily. As if from far away, she heard Sorel reason, »The Seine carries too much water even on the side channels and banks, think of the icy cold, the shallows!«

»Did we not want to kill him at all?« Biscarat pretended to be astonished and then, all of a sudden, dropped any further plans at once.

Cahusac got to his feet and gestured Bernajoux to loosen his grip on d'Artagnan's wrists. The oldest guardsman had seen Sorel's alarmed, almost pleading look against him, hesitated at first and then understood. They released d'Artagnan. Not a second too soon, she gasped and pushed herself up onto her knees, struggling for breath.

»You're- Devil, you are- too heavy,« she groaned and let Sorel help her up. He looked at her with concern, hopefully not expecting thanks for having rescued her at the last moment. It had only been the tight binding around her chest that had constricted her ribs, choked off her breath! Nothing more, certainly no arising panic!

She looked over Sorel's shoulder at the others who had gathered in the guardroom. Everyone who was not currently on duty had come. The men seemed perplexed and indecisive after this turn of events, that the initiation had been called off, some of them were even dissatisfied. Jussac was not to be spotted among them. He should officially not have condoned the assault on a superior officer and surely knew nevertheless what was going on in the guardroom at these moments; or should be going on, but was now foiled in awkward silence.

Bernajoux slapped his hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder and she almost went down again. He contorted his face into an altogether horrible smile. »Congratulations, Lieutenant!«

D'Artagnan caught herself after the comradely blow, partly because of Sorel's supporting hand at her back, and cleared her throat in embarrassment. »...thank you?«

»Don't be so modest!« Biscarat laughed out. »Hurray for our new first lieutenant!«

That was the general signal for new howls of triumph, this time not against but for d'Artagnan. Sorel squeezed her arm briefly before he backed away and then she too breathed a real sigh of relief, realising that she had been honestly accepted by the Red Guard once again, that nothing bad was threatening her any more and that Bernajoux has saved the day. Cheers filled the hall and from somewhere wine bottles were suddenly dished up and cups passed around.

The celebration was lively and noisy and the hustle and bustle made one dizzy, either from the bliss of wine or from the countless congratulations and handshakes with which d'Artagnan was assailed without ceasing. She received friendly mockery of having been defeated and at the same time Bernajoux and Biscarat were loudly ridiculed for having to take old Cahusac to their aid to even be able to grab and wrestle down their nimble lieutenant.

Voices flew around boisterously and the guardsmen took turns relieving the other comrades from their posts so that they too could join in the celebration. The noise seemed to be tolerated in the palais for today.

Eventually the door opened and Jussac entered. He went straight to d'Artagnan and no words were needed between the officers. A grip on the arm, a hand on the shoulder. That sealed the matter, acknowledged the promotion; and postponed an unpleasant conversation until tomorrow.