Chapter 52

He died and they did not even know his name.

A bullet had broke through his chest, his lungs were filling with blood. It hurt not at all, he felt nothing but the icy coldness of death and that was a mercy. He seemed to float, quite lightly and thoughtlessly over into the eternal night.

In truth, his body was convulsing, gurgling sounds escaped his throat, bubbles of blood burst from his mouth. He lay on the floor, his limbs beating uncontrollably in wild convulsions, he reared up one last time, a gruesome, hideous sight of almost endless agony.

It lasted only seconds and yet a thousand images stood before him, of all the things that formed his life, of the wishes and hopes that would no longer be fulfilled. A shy smile from his beloved. A child's laughter in his ears. Friends, brothers in arms by his side and glorious battles. All washed away and lost forever in the blink of an eye, by a pistol's thunder.

They did not even know his name and he closed his eyes forever.

Tréville lowered the pistol, his face showing no pity or regret. Just one more dead enemy in his path that would add another horror to his nightmares.

The Baron de Grinchamps took it less composedly. He stared, white as a sheet, at the corpse and steadied himself on the wall. He swallowed hard to keep from vomiting and winced when Tréville's épée shot up to prevent his other opponent from attacking again.

Sorel paused with the blade pointed at his chest. A dead mercenary lay at his feet, a pool of blood forming beneath him. Tréville had shot him down and thus saved the life of the guardsman who - in distress and outnumbered - was supposed to be the one who should have died before his time.

The men fought a silent, iron gaze duel, none of them laid down their arms. They were frozen in motion, waiting for the foe's next move, for the reaction after this completely unexpected turn of events; the mercenary was dead, Sorel was alive.

Grégoire could have thrown himself to the side, out of reach of Tréville's sword, and then attacked him. Grinchamps was no threat, only the Captain of the Musketeers was left as a serious opponent. They could have continued the fight, one on one, musketeer against guardsman. But they waited, lurking and trying to assess each other.

Grinchamps breathed heavily and continued to fight the nausea. But he still had the presence of mind to feel his way along the wall to Mademoiselle de la Nièvre's chamber. He jerked the door open and immediately saw that the room was deserted. The little bird had flown, the guard had been positioned in front of an empty chamber. »Merde!«

The corners of Sorel's mouth twitched in hidden triumph. The gesture could have been his death sentence if Tréville allowed himself to be provoked by it. But the captain kept a straight face; he was too experienced at not letting his thoughts show and reacting calmly. »She escaped?« he asked Grinchamps without letting Sorel out of sight.

Grinchamps uttered another curse and spun around. He was betrayed; Tréville had stabbed him in the back at the moment of victory. »What have you done?!«

»Made a decision when we had lost.«

»By sparing our enemies and killing the allies?!«

»By securing our escape route,« replied Tréville, pressing the tip of his blade more emphatically against Sorel's chest. »A sentry, here? The Red Guard should not have been prepared, they should not have known what our target was. They were too busy with the mercenaries to leave a man here, of all places. De la Nièvre has been warned of our plans!«

»By whom? No, wait!« Grinchamps groaned and slammed his fist against the door frame. »The women, somehow!«

»Yes, that woman.« Tréville realised in Sorel's unbending look that he was right. That the guardsman knew which woman in particular he meant. »You are still alive only for that reason.«

»To lead you past the Guard out of the palais?« Sorel snorted. »Kill me!«

»You have no idea how badly I'd like to do that...« Tréville knew who he was dealing with. He had recognised the guardsman at once; he had been with d'Artagnan at the Musketeers' headquarters. Tréville had seen their bond, the furtive glances on both sides. »...but she would never forgive me.«

He lowered his sword, even if it cost him the greatest willpower. Sorel saw it with a frown, but he made no move to seize his chance and attack Tréville now in order to escape himself. Instead, his gaze went to Grinchamps and it was obvious that the baron would not complete what Tréville could not or would not bring himself to do; Sorel was still alive because they both loved the same woman.

»I would be forgiven by her,« growled Sorel, consenting to the truce. »Safe passage from the Palais Cardinal, that settles my life debt.«

»A wise decision, you will do well under d'Artagnan's command.«

Sorel kept a sharp retort about which of them had already done well under d'Artagnan to himself. He needed not engage in this battle; he had long since won it. »Follow me.«

The fighting was over, but the palace was still in turmoil. It was easy to remain unnoticed by the footmen and maids, unmolested even by a furiously nagging Marquise de Saint-Véran or a deaf Vicomte de Limoges who, in the confusion, did not know where to point his ear trumpet and in the end decided to take a nap on a chair.

The ensign of the Guard strode past resolutely, cutting a swathe through the chaos with his presence alone. No one dared to stop him and the men in his company and demand an explanation for the situation; nor did anyone notice that he was the only guardsman around, that he did not look for his comrades, but even seemed to avoid them.

The public was their cover and they made it out into the courtyard without any witness thinking anything of it and asking the wrong questions. From here on, the portico gave them protection from all prying eyes. Their exit was to be the low, old door through which they had previously entered the palace.

They took the last few steps covered in the shadows of the wall. Sorel stepped out into the street first and glanced around. Nothing, all was quiet. Paris did not see what was not meant to be seen, and a revolt in the Palais Cardinal was a thing to close one's eyes and ears to. »Secured.«

At his hint, Tréville and Grinchamps followed him. The baron was still pale and hiding in the shadow of the wall. Tréville did not bother to say a few reassuring words to him, which would have achieved nothing anyway. He looked down the street suspiciously in both directions and realised that Sorel had not lured them into a trap. An honourable guardsman; he should have expected no less from d'Artagnan's friends. He nodded at Sorel and put as little sarcasm as possible in his voice.

»My thanks, Ensign.«

»I didn't do this for you. I did it for her.«

»Don't you dare regret those words one day! Fail her, and that mistake will cost you the dearest.«

»Don't worry, I won't follow in your foot-«

Sorel's last syllable was choked in a handkerchief that was suddenly pressed to his mouth and nose. Someone clutched him from behind, he screamed instinctively and inhaled a sweetish smell that immediately dulled his senses. He fought powerlessly, his knees giving way. He slumped as if lifeless in Monsieur's arms, who let him slide to the ground carefully.

Rochefort emerged from the shadows and scrutinised the captain of the Musketeers with an almost amused look. »Did you really think it would be that easy?«

»I never thought a guardsman would once be your hostage to stop me.«

»Ah, but it works surprisingly well!« The stable master stepped wholly out into the street, his pistol aimed at Tréville. But then he pointed the weapon at Grinchamps, who was a more rewarding target at a false move. The baron was the real hostage, he hardly dared to breathe and kept completely silent at Tréville's signal. Rochefort would have no qualms about pulling the trigger. Why hadn't he already?

»What now?« asked Tréville. »Are we under arrest?«

»Slowly, mon capitaine! All in due time.«

Monsieur knelt by Sorel and felt for a pulse on his neck. He nodded to Rochefort; the ensign was alive.

The stable master smiled thinly. »It would be a shame and, bearing in mind his origins, a political matter not to be underestimated to lose him. Fortunately, Captain, you did not deal him a fatal blow when you fled.«

Tréville nodded with a half concession as he understood the ulterior motive for knocking Sorel out. »An alibi for our escape helper.«

»Your hostage, I hate to remind you.«

»A lot of effort to accuse us of a crime we have not committed.«

»Have you not? You broke into the palace to abduct a woman.«

»You'll have to prove that to us. We're just two nightly flâneurs. You won't find any witnesses who would say otherwise.«

Rochefort grinned humourlessly like a wolf and secured his pistol. »Then just keep on strolling. You cannot escape.«

Tréville nodded, but turned to Grinchamps and whispered to him, »My house is your safe haven. Richelieu's henchmen would not dare to set foot over the threshold. Make your quarters there, wait for news.«

»What about you, my friend?«

»I have another negotiation to conduct here. Go now!«

Grinchamps hesitated, but then he hurried away. He would be safe for the time being and when Tréville turned around, there was no sign of Monsieur and Sorel either. The agent had carried the unconscious guardsman back into the palais. Tréville was alone with Rochefort and growled, »What do you want?«

»That this time, you will answer for your foolishness.«

»I'm here.«

»And tomorrow, you'll be in the Bastille, accused of high treason. You want proof? Be careful what you wish for, if you don't want it to come true. Here!« Rochefort pulled a letter out of his doublet. Monsieur had found it in de la Nièvre's residence and brought it to his master.

Tréville recognised it at first sight. He himself had written it, it was a letter to Grinchamps about their joint plans to put one over the cardinal. He silently cursed the baron for not having burned the letter, while pretending to be calm in front of Rochefort. »You're showing your so-called 'proof' around dangerously careless, Monsieur Master Spy. You could lose it.«

»I will lose it if our conversation is to my satisfaction. The heck, Tréville! You've fallen into the trap like you're wet behind the ears! The cardinal is a patient man, he only needed to wait. Now you show your late answer to the slight, to the loss of your lieutenant - and it may again cost d'Artagnan her head!«

»D'Artagnan has nothing to do with this.«

»She has everything to do with this. You can no longer cheat the gallows; Richelieu will accuse you before the King. You could only save your sorry neck by shifting the blame on the woman for whom you have done this folly.«

»You think me that dishonourable?«

»What I think of you doesn't matter. I hold in this letter the key to your condemnation. But I may never have received it; I shall not mention it. In return, you will take the King's sentence upon yourself and not sacrifice d'Artagnan again.«

Rochefort held out the letter to Tréville. The captain eyed it suspiciously, wondering if he was to expect another trap. He really had been wet behind the ears. He had allied himself with Grinchamps in order to take revenge, not considering that Richelieu would play d'Artagnan as a trump card without hesitation. To prove that she has been his motive.

Louis would never want to believe that the captain of his Musketeers had actually broken into the Palais Cardinal to commit a crime. The only thing that made it believable was this letter, which did not clearly state what he and Grinchamps had planned, only that they had conspired against Richelieu; and that could all too easily be twisted and turned like it suited the cardinal. Even to the point of high treason, the worst crime of all.

Rochefort demanded only one thing of him; that he would admit to having entered the palais that night. That he had interfered in the marriage policy of the Nièvre and Richelieu families and had planned to abduct a woman for the benefit of the Baron de Grinchamps. He was to confess even before the accusation was pronounced and without denying it or making excuses to get out of the affair. Excuses that the cardinal would have easily nullified with his trump card by revealing the truth about a certain duel and thus also about d'Artagnan. In the end, she would be found guilty instead of the men in her life, just because she was a woman. She would have to face the consequences that others deserved.

It was up to him not to let that happen. Not again.

Tréville took the letter from Rochefort's hands. »You have my word.«

»That will have to suffice,« Rochefort replied ironically. What was to think of their word when they had to answer to the King, they had showed months ago; the last time it had cost the Musketeers a head and earned the Red Guard one.

They parted company until the next time, and little did they know that, despite their agreement, it would all be in vain; for all their cunning, they had not considered that also Grinchamps would want to save his neck and that he would clutch at any straw to do so...