Chapter 39
The dull dawn was followed by a sunny autumn afternoon. The weather invited a stroll in the gardens, where the air was clear and the everlasting noise of the town muffled.
Wrapped in a warm cloak and a shawl around his neck, the First Minister, against the explicit advice of the doctors, had invited his court to take a walk. Indeed, Richelieu's cough subsided, his breathing became easier and his haggard cheeks gained colour.
The Jardin du Palais Cardinal had been prettied up and redesigned when the new master of the house moved into the Hôtel d'Angennes. The central avenue of lime trees provided shade along the entire length of the grounds, which seemed to stretch far into the horizon, bordered only by the side galleries. Hedges lined the main path and enclosed the precisely geometrically laid out and mirrored flower beds. All kinds of exotic and indigenous grew there according to a fixed plan, nature made subservient to the will of man, manageable and pleasing to God.
The centre of the garden was marked by a circular, shallow spring the size of a pond. Fountains shot up with a din and splashed back onto the surface. A gust blew drizzle from the fountains across the path. A welcome refreshment in the hot Parisian summer, but now the promenading nobles turned their faces away to protect them from the spray.
For the fine ladies and gentlemen, the stroll was a parade. It was work, not leisure, to make and keep contacts, to strengthen or break ties, to set little traps in conversation and to avoid falling into any, always under the Cardinal's eye and judgement.
An exhausting hen house, flighty tempers and nothing but superficial cackling. D'Artagnan did not let on to her thoughts when a Marquise de Saint-Véran behind the colourful fan twisted her lips into a smile against the Vicomte de Limoges, that never reached her eyes. It was a game with which d'Artagnan had become familiar over the years, which had intimidated and overwhelmed her at first until she had learned the rules under the wings of her friends.
Nevertheless, she preferred to stand apart from this society, as soldier and officer. Together with other guardsmen, she formed an escort of honour to accompany the jaunt. Polite cavaliers they were, occasionally catching the secretly interested glance of a pretty dame when no strict governess or chaperon was watching over honour and education.
Odette de la Nièvre was not among them. She had retreated to her chambers in a huff, sulking, and might be plotting retribution against the insolent lieutenant of the Red Guard who had separated her from Sorel. Elise might talked her out of it or encouraged her. Who could really know?
D'Artagnan sighed as she circled the fountain. The gravel crunched under her boots, as loud as the thoughts in her head. It had been a mistake to let the duke's daughter wander freely through the palace. Against bad premonitions, d'Artagnan had allowed it because she had shown Odette understanding as well as distrust; fled from her father and marriage plans, in hiding in Paris, and yet not free. This story could not leave d'Artagnan unaffected and she granted Odette at least a little freedom, albeit under supervision. But Elise then had to lead her to the guards' wing, of all places, and-!
D'Artagnan took a deep breath and looked back over her shoulder as she heard footsteps approaching behind her. As the highest-ranking officer, she stayed closest to Richelieu and kept an eye on the surroundings to intercept any ill-intentioned figure. She relaxed when she recognised Jussac. He still had a report to make and since the study has been relocated to the garden, Jussac requested to see His Eminence here. It was too important to wait any longer. He announced himself according to protocol to the valet, old Gustave Moraut, and the latter soon whispered in Richelieu's ear.
The cardinal nodded and sent away secretaries and servants to keep the courtiers at a distance during the consultation. They complied obediently and the guardsmen ensured that discretion was maintained; they remained close to the courtly entourage and did not allow anyone to approach the cardinal for the duration of the discussion.
Jussac gave his report calmly and stoically. Rochefort had already told the general content, Richelieu now listened to the details and let not show what he thought. The courtiers were speculating, but no one really wanted to know more - especially since the First Minister lapsed into silence after Jussac had finished. No one was interested in finding out whether this boded well or ill. It was wiser not to draw attention to oneself and to keep busy with other things.
Of course, d'Artagnan did not have this luxury. She had no choice but to follow an authoritative gesture and step before Richelieu and Jussac. The cardinal seemed to take it for granted that she already knew the reason for Jussac's presence and his report. Probably this also had been told to him by Rochefort and, now that he had a complete picture, he got straight to the point.
»I want my grandniece to be constantly protected! Mercenary armies, a deceitful fiancé and his henchmen. The dust will not settle for a long time.«
»Understood, Monseigneur!«
»At the same time, my niece is undeniably wilful.« A barely perceptible smile graced the corners of His Eminence's mouth, as if his recalcitrant kinship were less a nuisance than a source of pride, and he turned to d'Artagnan. »Jussac has urged upon me your misgivings about having her protected by the men of my Guard.«
D'Artagnan almost cleared her throat in embarrassment, but she kept her composure, especially as a certain emphasis on the word 'men' has not escaped her and made her wary of an ambush. »I persist in that opinion,« she said.
»It is no high opinion you have.«
»It is a human one, due to experience.«
Jussac snorted. »An insult it is, but fortunately for you, I know you are merely concerned for both the mademoiselle and the guardsmen.«
Richelieu raised a hand, ending the argument between officers. »The experience cannot be denied and I am willing to listen to your advice.« He raised his brows at d'Artagnan's surprised expression. »Or do you suddenly doubt your assessment of the situation?«
»No, Monseigneur.«
»Good. Odette must therefore not only be guarded, as long as an attempt to abduct her from my custody cannot be entirely ruled out. We have my niece's personal interests to consider in addition to the obvious enemies. For her own good, a dame of honour will be assigned to her.«
The look with which the cardinal regarded d'Artagnan left no room for interpretation. Jussac frowned, but no contradiction was to be expected from his side. Nevertheless, d'Artagnan resisted the forced recruitment, more instinctively than with real arguments. »I'm a soldier, not a chaperone!«
»You are what I demand.« Richelieu replied with pitiless severity. »I have never needed one more guardsman, and yet you are in my service. An agent incognito, at the same time a skilled personal guard.«
D'Artagnan noticed from the corner of her eye Jussac's admonishing expression to control herself. She obeyed him and bowed to the cardinal. »Yes, Sir!«
Richelieu scrutinised her and judged her devotion, at least to her superior, to be sufficient. He signalled to a secretary who seemed to have been waiting for his cue in the distance and now hurried over. The man was carrying papers and sealed documents, which he now handed to Richelieu and then retreated out of earshot again. Even if secret things were openly spoken here, the roar of the fountain did not carry the words out of the innermost circle.
The cardinal skimmed over the various documents and then divided them between the two officers. »Captain de Jussac will need another second in command for a while. Grégoire de Sorel is hereby appointed ensign. He has distinguished and proved himself in the last week.«
Jussac was too caught off guard by the abruptness with which Richelieu announced several promotions and made changes to the Red Guard to enjoy and be appropriately grateful for his new position as captain, which had finally become official. He nodded curtly and pocketed the documents.
D'Artagnan, for her part, was handed a completely different document in addition to written instructions for her assignment as some kind of agent. A family deed, a coat of arms, a family tree - the complete background tale of a stranger, worked out in detail and perfectly counterfeit. The whole matter must have been planned long ago, and she read out, frowning, »Charlotte de Chanlecy, Dame de Sainte-Croix*?«
»Rochefort suggested his respectable cousin.«
»I see.« D'Artagnan showed only a blank expression. The name Batz-Castelmore was unsuitable for the role; she had already disguised herself too often to become inconspicuously another silly goose in the whole courtly circus. Whether this cousin really existed? It was indifferent, but Rochefort showed humour in naming her 'Baroness of St. Crucifix'.
»Do I have any endowment or outfit at my disposal?«
»It is all arranged. Elise Perrault will show you to your new chambers later.«
That was no surprise either. Rochefort must have found out that Elise knew about d'Artagnan's secret. Elise had not only been chosen as Odette's personal maid because she was diligent and discreet, but because there was no problem of needing to hide the identity of the dame of honour from her.
D'Artagnan almost laughed bitterly at how well planned it all was. How foolish she herself was to still be astonished by this turn of events. Truly, Richelieu had never needed another officer for the Red Guard and now he was taking advantage of the whole affair. She had to comply with her oath of allegiance, that was how she had wanted it.
»I will officially pass through the gates of the Palais Cardinal tonight in this role,« she said. »Until then, allow me to attend to my duties as lieutenant.«
»Granted.« Richelieu gestured for her to withdraw and resume her place as a guard in the entourage. It was more inconspicuous if she did not disappear after this conversation, and she got a chance to go home to Madeleine at the end of duty to let her know that she would have to live at the palace for a while. Would Bernajoux move into her room? He had better not dare!
D'Artagnan looked up from the tips of her boots as footsteps crunched on the gravel beside her. She grinned wryly at Jussac. »Sorel will do his duty well, but don't get too used to my absence. I will be your first lieutenant again when this is over.«
Jussac nodded as if he wanted to hear nothing otherwise from her. »Will you manage?«
»Versailles? It's not the first time.«
»Right. You're on leave for a family affair in Gascony.«
»Ingenious,« d'Artagnan grunted, meaning the opposite.
»The simplest explanation, which no one will question. You can see to it personally that your misgivings about Odette de la Nièvre won't come to pass. That's the way you want it anyway, to make absolutely sure.«
D'Artagnan tried hard not to look caught and she covered it up with biting self-mockery. »Certainly, I'm a true passion killer. It's my destiny.«
»I think this development equally inconvenient. I would have liked to have had an experienced second in command at my back while I acquaint myself with my new duties.«
»Biscarat and Bernajoux will help Sorel until he's no longer wet behind the ears.« D'Artagnan shook off all her gloomy thoughts and sentiments, showing a sly smile. »My sincere congratulations on your promotion, mon capitaine! A word of advice; stay away from the guardroom tonight.«
»...they won't dare!«
D'Artagnan whistled a cheerful little song. There was still enough time until evening to assign Sorel his first task as an ensign. She laughed when she noticed Jussac's frown. She already missed the bickering they wouldn't be having any time soon.
He snorted, grumbled something into his beard and nodded goodbye to her. Then he left to deliver Sorel's promotion and take his new place as captain.
* Charlotte-Anne de Chanlecy, Baroness de Sainte-Croix († 1683), married Charles de Batz-Castelmore d'Artagnan on April 3, 1659.
