Chapter 47

The mercenaries did not bother to cover their tracks or confuse their captives by taking unnecessary detours. The darkness and the fearful ignorance of the Parisians made it easy for them to cross the Pont Neuf unmolested, leave the Saint-Germain-des-Prés district behind them and enter the Rue du Petit-Lion. Enormous shadows lined this street, dark façades huddled together in the night seeking protection and yet hating each other; old nobility resided here, vying for the most intimidating magnificent building, the most intricate garden, the most massive entrance gate.

The mercenaries headed for one of these gates and knocked on a locked oak door. A gold-framed coat of arms was emblazoned on top. Its bright colours were a grey blur in the night, the heraldic symbols and figures barely discernible, and yet Elise and d'Artagnan knew with unerring certainty where they had been taken to. They had both seen the coat of arms before, on Odette de la Nièvre's finger, set in a precious signet ring.

The town palace of her family. Of course, where else would they take the duke's escaped daughter once she was finally caught and could be handed over to her father? Even if the duke himself was not yet in Paris, someone else has meanwhile been appointed to represent his affairs and would decide what would happen next, about Odette, her dame of honour and her chambermaid. They would not leave this prison until Odette was back in the custody of her family.

A tired footman opened the gate for the mercenaries and their prey after a short exchange of words. The women were led unresistingly across the wide courtyard to the house. Their docility was calculated; it spared them handcuffs and gags. Madeleine's mouth was also no longer gagged after her curses had fallen silent and she contented herself with angry glances. The mercenaries did not recognise her as a false Odette and treated her reasonably politely and with restraint - One word to her father and any scoundrel who touched her roughly today would soon have his head cut off.

Elise saw and heard everything; silent as a maid. D'Artagnan was grabbed more roughly by the men, although she had been stripped of her sword as seemingly as of any will to fight. One of the mercenaries had sustained a nice bump on the back of the head from the encounter with her, the others did not want to make a similar mockery of themselves and held her tightly.

On the way to the house, d'Artagnan assessed the possibilities for a later escape but it was far too dark to discover a servants' entrance anywhere, a hidden side door perhaps. They would have had to search during their flight, but the garden along the outer wall did not offer enough cover for that; trees, bushes and flower beds were laid out in perfect symmetry, trimmed to please the eye and visible from all angles, at all times.

They entered the house and the footman led the small procession from the entrance hall into a corridor branching off to the right. Although nightly silence filled the residence, numerous oil lamps still burned along the walls. They could not have been lit only after the mercenaries knocked at the gate. Was the arrival of Nièvre's men expected?

The women were now more reluctant and stubborn with every step. The mercenaries were not bothered by the unruly protest. The duke's pretend daughter was forced to move on with emphatic politeness, Elise and d'Artagnan received rude nudges in the back. The side wing stretched almost endlessly before them, the mercenaries made their triumphant entrance along wall lights and double doors.

One of the doors was suddenly flung open, briefly revealing a parlour. D'Artagnan caught sight of a fireplace, warming the two armchairs in front of it. A side table stood between the furniture, a decanter and glasses on it. Nièvre's representative had a late guest, which was another reason why the lamps had not yet been dimmed and the servants were still up and about.

The door was closed again before d'Artagnan could gather any more impressions and her gaze went to a man in the most distinguished clothes, of charming appearance, quite handsome figure and pleasing countenance; he had narrow cheeks, brown eyes that were a little too close together and because of which one was easily tempted to underestimate the gentleman.

Baron de Grinchamps.

D'Artagnan turned her head away as Grinchamps examined the women's faces one by one. In the end, the colour of the hair seemed to be his clue by which he thought he recognised Odette. Of course, he had never met his fiancée in person before. He only knew her from descriptions, at best he possessed a miniature of her portrait. The masquerade with the uniform did the rest to push aside his confused doubt that he has imagined Odette de la Nièvre to be a little different. He approached Madeleine with the friendliest of manners.

She played along convincingly well and punished Grinchamps' polite bow with a haughty look and pursed lips. The baron was not foolish enough to try to win her favour by asking for forgiveness. The circumstances for a first meeting of future spouses could not have been worse. So he only introduced himself, as decency politeness demanded, however ridiculous it was.

Elise understood the second as the name »Fernand de Grinchamps« came up, why d'Artagnan's whole attitude was so dangerously tense that the mercenary next to her grabbed her firmer by the arm so she would not broke free from him and throw herself at the baron. She would have beaten up the impudent gallant on the spot and handed him over to Richelieu personally to end this whole farce once and for all!

Lucky for Grinchamps that the superior force was too great and Madeleine, after an inviting gesture towards the salon, insisted, »I won't go a step further without my friends!«

»Of course, of course. Your wishes are sweet commands to me.«

»Then let us go at once!«

»-except for this.«

Grinchamps signalled to the leader of the mercenaries to let him have Madeleine. He was obeyed without a murmur; the baron was indeed the duke's representative in Paris. He offered Madeleine his arm; she wrinkled her nose, a belligerent glint in her eyes. But she swallowed the indelicate words that were on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she bared her teeth into a smile that would have made Bernajoux very proud of her, and accepted the invitation.

Her friends were indeed allowed to accompany her, not without each continuing to have a mercenary to guard her. The other men stayed outside the door to create a semblance of intimacy and privacy in the salon.

Grinchamps acted all suave and confident, as if the residence already belonged to him, now that he could hand 'Odette' over to her family. For to whom but an emissary of the duke should the second wine glass on the side table belong, with whom else should Grinchamps have been in confidential conversation? It had to be someone who knew about the whole affair, someone who had waited with the baron for word from the mercenaries.

Someone who occupied one of the armchairs by the fireplace. At first, d'Artagnan could see no more than a pair of dusty riding boots, a hand resting on the armrest, as she was led into the room. A nobleman, that much and no more she could deduce from this fleeting sight - and at the same time she was overcome by the feeling of a strange familiarity, in the way he moved as he now stood up and turned to face them.

After Pauger's murderous attack, d'Artagnan's throat felt constricted, it was difficult for her to swallow, her voice was hoarse. But that was not the only reason why she could only whisper the name of the man who was Grinchamps' accomplice. »Arnaud...«

As quietly, almost inaudibly, as she had spoken, Arnaud de Tréville's gaze nevertheless met her and from his lips fell a soundless, disbelieving, 'Charlotte?' A blink later, Tréville hid his surprise behind an inscrutable captain's countenance again and pretended to be unfamiliar with this woman in the mercenary's grip. Elise and she were pushed into a corner of the room while Grinchamps triumphantly presented the dame on his arm.

»Mademoiselle Odette de la Nièvre du Plessis.«

»That's not her.«

Grinchamps stared blankly for seconds after Tréville's matter-of-fact statement. Then he countered, »But it must be her, by the description... and she's been recognised in the Fir Cone, she was there with the other women!«

»She escaped.«

»And was caught again!«

»Fernand, you fool! Nièvre's men have been outwitted!« Tréville stepped forward and pulled the hat off the false Odette's head. There was a rumble of thunder in his voice. »Madeleine Chevrette.«

»It's no pleasure,« Madeleine hissed back, while Grinchamps paled.

»But who...?«

»Madeleine Chevrette,« repeated Tréville, »the landlady of my lieutenant. My former lieutenant. D'Artagnan played a trick on us.« As clear as he made the break between them with emphasised words, Tréville continued to keep his eyes on Madeleine instead of turning to d'Artagnan and betraying her in front of Grinchamps.

The baron was puzzled. »Didn't you say he was on home leave?«

»Another ruse. Ventredieu, I should have known! I should never have lost sight of-!«

»You should never have let d'Artagnan go in the first place, you dork!« interjected Madeleine with a thought that had long been on her mind.

Tréville sighed and nodded with a strange mixture of anger and regret. »That was my first, my biggest mistake, indeed.«

Grinchamps did not understand what was resonating between the lines. He only heard his defeat and slumped heavily into an armchair. »All in vain! What do we do with the women now? Do we lock them up? We can't set them free.«

D'Artagnan clenched her teeth as she was gripped even tighter at the remark. The mercenary dug his fingers deep into her flesh, showing a gross grin. His revenge for the blow to the head; easy to imagine what would happen if he had five minutes alone with his captive. He breathed hot and heavy, she closed her eyes in disgust.

Suddenly the painful grip on her arms loosened and she got free. The mercenary backed away slowly, his hands raised. He stared into the muzzle of a pistol pointed at his face from a short distance. A finger bent the trigger, close to release.

»Scram.« Tréville's voice was dangerously calm. »Now.«

For a second, the mercenary was still frozen. Then he uttered a foul imprecation and fled out of the parlour.

His comrade, a coarse fellow with a full beard and yellow teeth, let go of Elise, reluctantly only and with clear anger on his mien. He had been chosen as the new leader of the mercenaries and was smart enough not to mess with Tréville over a woman.

Tréville paid no attention to him or the maid, he was at d'Artagnan's side in two long strides and touched her cautiously on the chin. She did not flinch immediately, as he would have expected, so that he could gently turn her face towards him and examine her neck. His anger flared anew as he saw it confirmed. Strangulation marks.

»How did that happen?« he asked in a strained voice.

A guilty expression flitted across d'Artagnan's face, but she remained silent and avoided his inquiring gaze until Elise intervened. She was not afraid to speak the truth, not afraid that Tréville might call her a liar, might not believe her in the inconceivable. »A musketeer did it!«

»Yah,« the mercenary leader spat out contemptuously, »that fury has one of your men on her conscience.«

Tréville frowned and he scrutinised d'Artagnan with a look that was hard to interpret. »Is that true?«

»Pauger...« she whispered. »He... I couldn't save him.«

»He attacked her!« Elise interjected in defence. »He tried to kill her and I shot him! It was me!«

The mercenary laughed derisively. »Nonsense, woman! Your hands are still shaking, the shot went into the pavement!«

»A bullet hit him! Madeleine saw it, too!«

»I did! He almost strangled Charlotte, Elise had to do it!«

Tréville ran a hand over his face. He really wanted to believe that it had not been d'Artagnan who had shot one of his men, that it had not come to that, even if she had sworn allegiance to the cardinal. But why would Pauger attack a woman out of the blue?

He sought the answer in her eyes and found it right there; in her eyes. Pauger had recognised her. He had attacked her for what he believed her to be. A liar, a traitor. An evil being. Pauger would have killed her. If Tréville himself had been there and forced to choose between two lives... »You're not to blame,« he said to Elise and meant d'Artagnan.

Grinchamps had followed all the banter only from his armchair, and now he interjected, »Our man has no reason to lie. So you claim the shot missed?«

»There's no way it could have hit. The others will confirm it.«

»Yet this musketeer was shot?«

The mercenary hesitated, trying to remember more clearly. »An echo. A second shot, I'm sure.«

Grinchamps looked at Tréville with silent request. The captain nodded and turned to d'Artagnan. He scrutinised her thoroughly and not very discreetly, at her scowl also more amused than the circumstances allowed. »You want me to search?« he asked challengingly.

She almost answered cheekily in a war she could not win. Just in time she closed her mouth again and felt between the folds of her skirt for her pistol. She reluctantly handed it over to Tréville who, after a quick inspection, noted, »Still loaded, not fired.«

A slap resounded behind him. Grinchamps had not politely asked Madeleine for permission to body search her and she snarled at him, »Hands off, you scamp!«

»She hasn't got a pistol on her.« Grinchamps held his cheek with a grin and regretted nothing. »There must have been another shooter, somewhere in the dark.«

They were all aware of what this meant; someone had followed the women, probably all the way here. It was only a matter of time before the cardinal's Red Guard approached to storm the townhouse and arrest the conspirators.

Tréville looked as if he had been expecting it ever since he recognised d'Artagnan in one of the captives. »We are betrayed.«

»It's not too late to do the right thing!« said d'Artagnan as forcefully as if she were still his lieutenant, as if he could still trust her advice.

He nodded. »Indeed.«

Her relief at his giving in was premature, for he turned away from her, to Grinchamps who by now had considered all options and said, »Let's end it tonight. There's only this one more opportunity for our original plan.«

»You know how I think about that,« said Tréville.

»'Folly' was your kindest word for it.«

»And the rest of my words, that you can always rely on me,« Tréville replied with a grim face. »Now is the best time, you're right. Guards and spies are distracted.«

»What about d'Artagnan? He's forewarned.«

»The lieutenant will not stand in our way.«

»Despite old bond, how can you be sure?«

»I just am, trust my judgment.« Tréville turned to Elise. »The mademoiselle will accompany us.«

»If you need a hostage, take me!« cried d'Artagnan, pale at the threat of disaster, almost pleading. Tréville was not deterred by this and gave her a more than cynical sideways glance. »Flattering, how you think of me by now.«

»I can be more useful to you than Elise!«

»How would you know?«

»Tell me, and I'll know!«

Tréville did not answer, and only looked at d'Artagnan for long moments. If his mien had been blank a moment ago, she could now read his thoughts clearly. She was more useful to him here, as a distraction, as a trump card up his sleeve. Here he would not have to worry about putting her in danger. He silently begged her for the last of her trust. Nothing would happen to Elise, he swore on old bonds, on his honour - and she believed him.

Reluctantly, d'Artagnan relented and stepped aside, watched by Madeleine's perplexed and Elise's worried gaze. Grinchamps alone wondered aloud at Tréville's decision in favour of the maid, for to him, too, another choice seemed more useful. »Why not d'Artagnan's mistress, this Madeleine Chevrette, to keep him at bay?«

»Because we have no need of a landlady, but of a maid.«

»Ah, of course! She knows the palace best and will give us a secret way in-«

»Exactly.« Tréville interrupted the baron, but it was already too late, the plan betrayed by Grinchamps' naivety in thinking the women no danger. A folly, indeed! They were going to walk straight into the Palais Cardinal and abduct Odette!

»Don't do this!« exclaimed d'Artagnan aghast. »Arnaud!«

»It's decided.« Tréville, with a curt and semi-polite gesture, beckoned Madeleine to exchange her place next to Grinchamps with Elise. He ignored the landlady's snide snort as well as d'Artagnan's plea to come to his senses. Tonight it would all end. Odette would have been stolen or her abductors would have failed in the worst way. Perhaps there would have been other possibilities, but they were running out of time.

»Your men are to protect the women.« Tréville ordered, addressing the mercenary, deliberately not saying 'guard them'. He had made it abundantly clear previously that each of the men faced a nasty fate if a single hair on Madeleine's or d'Artagnan's head was harmed.

Grinchamps grinned broadly, figuring that Tréville was not quite as unfamiliar with at least one of the dames as he pretended, and that he wanted to keep her away from the events for certain reasons. Even a suspicion grew in him as to who this woman actually was, but as he could not be sure, he did not guess aloud into the blue, but kept his thoughts, the memory of a conversation in the Fir Cone with d'Artagnan, to himself.

»A few of the men should accompany us,« he said instead.

The new mercenary leader spoke up grumpily. »We've already lost Serge, ugly affair. We're not cannon fodder, not in an attack on the house, not in the palace!«

»Unless the payment is right?«

»Now we're talking.«

Grinchamps shrugged, drew a purse from his coat and tossed it to the mercenary. »Consider it a down payment on your loyalty.«

The purse rattled bulging and disappeared into deep pockets. The deal was perfect, the plan made - and d'Artagnan no longer resisted as Madeleine and she were taken away.