Part II - Moving on to pastures new

Chapter 30

Biscarat followed the noise of battle that echoed from the courtyard shortly before sunset.

He had not forgotten his orders, which Jussac had issued to him yesterday; to talk to d'Artagnan, ask forgiveness for his espionage and accept whatever punishment would be enforced upon him. It had proved difficult enough to dispose of the matter. Their new first lieutenant had been involved in her duties all day and never stayed in one place long enough to spare time for a private conversation.

Finding Sorel had been much less difficult. Biscarat had waited for him between the changing of the guards, and then scolded him for concealing important knowledge from Jussac. Sorel looked guilty and remorseful, but he also presented good reasons; confusion and indecision, plus a vague feeling that it would not have been right to betray d'Artagnan.

Biscarat patted him on the shoulder in silent understanding. Sorel was very relieved to no longer be the only one in the know. But he insisted on not accompanying Biscarat to d'Artagnan. He was of the opinion that she would soon confess the truth to him voluntarily because they were friends and until then he did not want to pester her.

Biscarat made a doubtful face at this, but at the same time Sorel's naiveté amused him in more ways than one. In the near future, he would be able to observe a most interesting walk on eggshells of two guardsmen around each other, until it became too stupid for Jussac to watch and he summoned them both in his study for a clarifying tirade. So Biscarat left it at that and waited for the end of the day to ask d'Artagnan for two minutes of her time.

The closer he came to the courtyard by the utility rooms, lured by the loud commotion, the more clearly he could distinguish the sounds. Swords clanged, blades sang and cut the air, battle cries were shouted and echoed in the portico. He heard two voices, someone was fighting out a late duel. A fierce exchange of blows to which no one else was invited, which had no witnesses and was conducted without rules.

Except for Biscarat, all the other guardsmen, and even the servants, seemed wise enough not to be spectators. He was alone in the portico and instinctively hid in the shadows to watch the skirmish from there. On a crate at the edge of the courtyard lay two uniforms and feathered hats. The duellists had taken off their red tunics to be more agile; this was not a game, it was a serious contest between the two best fencers of the regiment - and this time, no Rochefort stepped carelessly between them.

Bernajoux fought as vigorously as ever. He rushed forward ruthlessly against himself and his opponent, but without fencing blindly or rashly.

D'Artagnan, on the other hand, acted nimbly and kept her distance. She dodged Bernajoux' thrusts and lay in wait for a counterattack.

With the first exchange of blows, neither gained the upper hand and soon they were circling each other like predators, observing, assessing the strengths and weaknesses of their opponent, testing each other's attentions and skills with feints.

Bernajoux launched the next attack impetuously, grown impatient by the cautious waiting for an opportunity. He threw himself with a wild charge against d'Artagnan, but she dodged him, letting him run past her into the void. Carried by his own momentum, Bernajoux had to catch himself on a pillar. In the same movement, he hastily threw himself to the side, a blade shot out against the marble where his shoulder had been a moment ago.

He growled and put distance between d'Artagnan and himself. The fight was not yet decided. Sweat beaded from Bernajoux' brow, he braced his feet firmly on the ground. »Again!«

D'Artagnan scrutinized him, not particularly willing to raise her weapon against him anew. »As you wish, but you gaining victory is impossible.«

This was not an insult to goad him, but a statement of fact. Bernajoux wiped his face with his sleeve. »It's not about victory.«

»About what then?«

»Understanding.«

»What am I supposed to understand?«

Bernajoux shook his head, struggling to find more words than usual. »I want to understand you.«

It dawned on d'Artagnan. Bernajoux was not a connoisseur of human nature like Biscarat and not a gregarious fellow like Sorel. His trust was won in a direct duel or never. She nodded, gripped the sword tighter and took up fencing stance. »En garde

Bernajoux bared his teeth into a grim, satisfied smile. Just moments ago he had narrowly escaped, yet he had seen through his opponent's greatest weakness; d'Artagnan would never have wanted to seriously injure him, her blade had not left the slightest scratch in the pillar.

He knew that he could not win against the nimble and agile lieutenant unless he changed his strategy. He seized his new chance and attacked again, using quick thrusts against his opponent, preventing her from merely dodging and waiting for counterattacking opportunities.

D'Artagnan was no less adaptable. She abandoned her defensive posture and struck back, holding the ground and looking for an opening.

Bernajoux did not lay himself open to her, he found no weakness in her stance. But he finally got close enough to take advantage of his superior strength. With brute force he dealt a blow to d'Artagnan's blade, knocked it aside, pinned it to the ground and prevented a saving escape by grabbing the lieutenant roughly by the wrist.

He braced his whole bulk against d'Artagnan, who could not free herself or her sword. Before he could completely bear her down, she shouted, »All right! I give up, touché! Let go!«

Bernajoux persisted, still in the frenzy and triumphant feeling of the fight. D'Artagnan gasped and instinctively resisted going down on her knees or losing her épée. In a fight to the death, she would have drawn her dagger now and thrust it into the enemy's ribs; her weakness not to do so.

Suddenly the pressure eased. Bernajoux released her, hastily almost, and took a big step away from her. »Forgive me.«

»Bah, for what? You have won fair and supremely.«

»Shouldn't have wrestled you down.«

D'Artagnan wondered at the remorseful demeanour. »You recognised and seized the best opportunity for victory. There's no need to ask pardon for that. On the contrary, I congratulate you. My first defeat in a long time.«

Bernajoux bowed his head without wanting to accept the praise. »'Twas wrong, getting you into dire straits like that. Like that time with the horse manure. Or as we did it in the guardroom, at the celebration.«

D'Artagnan heard the repentant confession, first confused, then comprehending and embarrassed herself. Oh, this Bernajoux! His coarse façade was also no more than that, to distract from his gentle nature. At least towards his friends and comrades, he was remarkably sensitive and apparently burdened himself with a guilty conscience for having handled d'Artagnan too roughly, though she avoided any physical contact or closeness like the plague.

»It seems we both understand each other better now trough this duel.« She held out her hand. »Truce?«

Bernajoux grasped her forearm in the manner of a brother-in-arms. »Truce.«

Biscarat watched it all from his hiding place and smiled at the outcome. Then he sighed because he was not as delightfully ignorant as Bernajoux and now had to disturb the cosy togetherness. He stepped out of the shadows, his footsteps sounding loud enough to be noticed right away. He bowed his head in greeting to the superior officer.

D'Artagnan acknowledged it. She could not have tolerated any disrespect, any disregard of rank while on duty, no matter how comradely they might have become by now. She nodded back and then, turning to Bernajoux, said, »I think we're done here.«

The men were dismissed for the evening, but Biscarat was not here to fetch anyone for a joint end of duty. »Would you grant me a parley, monsieur le lieutenant?«

D'Artagnan wondered at the pronounced formality with which the request was addressed to her. It was not like Biscarat to be so insistent on protocol. »Certainly. What is it?«

It was also not like him to keep secrets from Bernajoux and not be able to speak openly in front of him as well. But that was exactly what he was requesting now with an apologetic look towards his friend and d'Artagnan clearly heard the silent communication between them. She gave Biscarat a curt sign to follow her to a private conversation and made her way to Jussac's study.

As of today, d'Artagnan had the power of the keys to the room that would become her own study as soon as Captain Luchaire vacated his chair for his successor. Thus they all moved up a seat and she turned her head to Biscarat, who was walking beside her in a conspicuously silent manner.

»I hope it's important. I long for a bath.« Indeed, her shirt was sticking uncomfortably to her skin and she would have given a lot to be able to loosen the collar and doublet a little. It was impossible, she had to endure the sweat for a while longer in Biscarat's presence.

»Bernajoux has made a good challenge to you, as no one has done for a long time,« he noted.

»You watched?«

»The deciding round, when you thankfully did not kill him.« He glanced at the dagger at her belt. »Your fingers were already touching the hilt.« Even hidden in the shadows, Biscarat had a good eye for the smallest gestures.

D'Artagnan shrugged. »Bernajoux relies too much on his strength. But he also knew, he wouldn't have to face a desperate last resistance.« She unlocked the study and stepped up to the desk without taking a seat at it or offering Biscarat a chair. She suspected that this conversation would not last too long. »So, what do you want to discuss in unusual privacy? Out with it, I kill you only in self-defence also!«

»Too kind,« replied Biscarat dryly, searching for the right words without going like a bull at a gate and thereby provoking self-defence. »Rochefort sends me.«

»Rochefort! In what trouble is he that he doesn't seek me out himself?«

»In fact, it's me who is in trouble.«

D'Artagnan frowned and eyed Biscarat sceptically. Why was he turning with this to her and not to Jussac, as would have been more expected? What was Rochefort up to again? »Continue.«

»I've taken documents that were not meant for my eyes. Reports that had been archived in secret for years. About you.«

»Me?« The steep crease on d'Artagnan's forehead deepened dangerously. »You spy on me?«

»That's not how I would-« Under his lieutenant's withering gaze, Biscarat relented and muttered in Occitan, »Òc.«

D'Artagnan did not lapse in the same way into their mother tongue. Biscarat did not deserve this flight into commonness to conjure up any kind of trust between them. Icy undertone, she inquired, »Rochefort has caught you and sends you to me to confess?«

»So it is. I beg your pardon most earnestly and await any punishment.«

He waited in vain. D'Artagnan stared in silence for quite a while at some empty spot behind Biscarat. It was disgusting enough that these documents about her existed at all. Rochefort would have to bleed for that. But what was she going to do about Biscarat and his confession? Basically, he had not confessed anything to her yet, and so she asked him with quite an effort of control, »Why, mordieux?! And what did you read about me?«

»It was a coincidence.«

»Coincidence?! Tell that to your cronies in the lockup when we're done here!«

Biscarat knew he could not joke lightly. D'Artagnan was not Jussac, a punishment would not be mitigated by friendship. »Coincidence, because actually I wanted to know more about Mademoiselle Batz. One thing led to another, I read who you really are.«

»...what?«

»Charlotte de Batz-Castelmore, also called d'Artagnan after your mother. Rochefort is quite willing to silence me with his bare hands. He and Jussac leave it to you.«

D'Artagnan felt for the desk behind her, for the reassuringly sturdy wood. In no time at all, her secret has been revealed by several people. Jussac had been stunned at first, then surprisingly understanding. And Biscarat? He looked at her curiously, not with disgust. Was he not afraid of his own fate, of his punishment? Ah, indeed. There was something else to read in his eyes, a sudden worry.

D'Artagnan felt queasy for a second and when she could see clearly again, Biscarat was at her side, grasping her arm supportingly. How had he done that without moving? A moment ago he was standing two steps away, wasn't he?

»D'Artagnan?« Biscarat repeated worriedly and this time at least received a confused blink instead of a glassy-eyed look in reply. His lieutenant had almost fallen to his feet if he had not caught her in time. Did Bernajoux wound her in the duel? No, she seemed unharmed, the colour gradually returned to her face and she drew her arm from his grasp with a slow, laborious movement.

Biscarat nevertheless did not retreat in case her knees threatened to give way again. »Are you all right?«

»...yes.« It had just been too many seconds of shock in too short a time for her. »Just a moment.«

Biscarat silently congratulated himself on going like a bull at a gate after all. D'Artagnan leaned against the desk, composing herself. She took a deep breath, a wry smirk on her lips, annoyed with herself. »Don't take this for feminine weakness, Biscarat. Otherwise I'd have to cover it up with a particularly draconian punishment.«

»I deserve it.«

»Ah? And who would be helped by a dishonourable discharge for the coincidental espionage?« D'Artagnan sighed. Biscarat had apparently had no ill intentions, had become only too curious after she had made a mistake and pretended to be a maid. How could he have known that Mademoiselle Batz would lead him to her in the end? She could not justify a punishment on the grounds that he would have deliberately spied on a superior and deceived him. Instead, a certain master spy should be charged for not destroying these reports.

»Rochefort and Jussac leave it to me? Mordieux, those cowards! Well, then, your punishment will be to keep silent, when you're usually only too eager to gather knowledge and pass it on.«

»That's harsh.« Biscarat smiled narrowly at his 'punishment' and at the casual, personal tone. What was going on here had long since ceased to be official. What was the point of them insisting on keeping their distance where there was none anymore? When everything was out in the open? They were doomed to be friends from now on. »I'm sincerely sorry to have found out this way. Instead of talking to you.«

»Accepted,« d'Artagnan replied curtly and then hesitated. She knew this situation far too well. It reminded her of a similar conversation with Aramis and Porthos, of her imploring them to remain silent before Athos. What had she done to the friends by making them keep secrets from each other? Today she was wiser not to take the wrong path again. »I shall inflict an additional punishment on you; You will stand by me as soon as I confess to Bernajoux and reassure him if he takes the truth less well.«

»I'll do that gladly,« Biscarat promised, not surprised at this turn of events. Perhaps Sorel has not been so wrong in thinking that d'Artagnan would gradually confess voluntarily, at least to those guardsmen who were already getting closer to her anyway. »I will accompany you. With respect, you look pale.«

»Do as you please, I cannot stop you anyway.« D'Artagnan wrinkled her nose, yet she was glad to leave the study with a support in case of need. She had not felt this weak in her legs for a long time, perhaps the duel has worn her out? She need not delude herself, the real reasons were to be found elsewhere. For example, the fact that they could by no means leave the Palais Cardinal unmolested.

Bernajoux had waited patiently in the courtyard, as no one had sent him away. He was sitting on a crate, as he had been yesterday during the weapons practice, leaning comfortably against the column at his back. He had put his uniform back on and held d'Artagnan's forgotten tunic folded over his arm ready for her return. He turned his head as he heard footsteps in the portico and commented on the lieutenant's arrival in Biscarat's company, »Went quickly.«

D'Artagnan gratefully accepted the uniform from his hands. She swung it around her shoulders and adjusted her feathered hat. »Good Monsieur Biscarat is quick to get to the point.«

»I'm not the only one with that, as soon as the opportunity arises,« the Gascon commented, and d'Artagnan understood him too well. Why not get it over with at once? She looked around thoroughly, even up to the windows, to see if anyone was listening or spying on them.

Bernajoux watched this with a questioning expression and received only a shrug from Biscarat in reply. No one was here any more, dusk had long since fallen, and the utility rooms around the inner courtyard lay deserted until the next morning.

D'Artagnan gave up trying to buy time and took a deep breath. »I have a confession to make.«

Bernajoux made no secret of his puzzlement. It had not escaped him that Biscarat was standing so close to d'Artagnan, as if he wanted to back up the lieutenant. What had the two of them had to discuss in private that made a confession necessary?

»Iamawoman.« D'Artagnan mumbled the words so quickly that they were barely intelligible.

Bernajoux' scarred face moved as he frowned. »I know.«

Not only was d'Artagnan taken by complete surprise, without the ground seeming to sway beneath her feet once more. No, this time she was far too flabbergasted by the frank answer to be at all stunned. »You know-?«

Biscarat, too, stared at his friend. »But-!«

Bernajoux waved it off. »Noticed it in the duel at the latest. You fight nimbly like a woman, think carefully like a woman, and are as delicate as a woman.«

»No one's ever called me 'delicate' before,« d'Artagnan muttered in embarrassment, and gasped as Bernajoux slapped her on the back.

»I take that back, you're hard as iron!«

He laughed boisterously and d'Artagnan pulled her feathered hat down low on her face so as to hide herself from any too curious gaze beneath the brim. Oh, this Bernajoux! Again!

Biscarat had listened attentively and, still not quite grasping that his friend seemed to have been much wiser than him much earlier, he inquired, »What do you mean 'noticed in the duel at the latest'? Since when did you suspect...?«

»After the washhouse incident. I saw her hands, inflamed from the lye. A few hours later you speculated about the Batz. Wasn't hard from there.«

»And it didn't occur to you to make me privy to it?!«

»I promised Madeleine Chevrette.«

From under a feathered hat they heard a muffled, husky voice ask, »To my landlady? She didn't tell me about you two!«

»Was nothing to say. A splendid woman like her no man would have left untouched; no man would have allowed another to be with her. Was the last clue.«

»Great.« The newly enamoured couple had probably silently agreed on not to talk to or about d'Artagnan at their clandestine meetings. She pushed back the hat, wiping her cheeks inconspicuously. The men were united in not noticing anything, and Biscarat even suggested merrily that they should now go to a tavern to celebrate duty's end for today.

»You two will pay the bill!« said d'Artagnan with a grin, and with that they all got off lightly.