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Chapter 5

"God may seem sometimes to forget for a while,
whilst his justice is resting,
but there always comes a moment,
when he remembers."
– Alexandre Dumas -

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A new day arrived, predominantly a cloudy one, with occasional patches of blue here and there. The air was crisp and surprisingly fresh, a rarity in the mostly dirty Paris, often reeking of waste and anything unpleasant. It seemed almost as if the city itself decided to clean up for the special day and breathe in the new hope, bringing new life into its tired and wrecked streets.

The Notre Dame cathedral stood tall majestically, watching over its city as a guardian, unaffected by all the events that shaped its history. Three young women stood under its mighty wings. They were accompanied by a small group of musketeers and a handful of cadets standing nearby, ready to fulfil their duty to the Crown once more. They were not alone - the number of people gathered along the Seine, lining the road leading to the Cathedral was impressive.

Merely a few days after the City was in mourning for King Louis XIII and Minister Treville, it seemed that its inhabitants were more than ready for a new era. Even the recent, brief scandal involving fake pamphlets about the Queen's non-existent affair with a Spanish man didn't seem to have deterred the Parisians from the special occasion. Everybody was waiting for the arrival of the new Regent and the new, young King.

"I have to say I'm quite curious to see the Queen," Elodie said, smiling and cradling her baby daughter.
"Seeing her for the first time is always a special moment," Constance replied cheerfully. "It'll be worth it, trust me."
"I wonder how she'll cope with it," Sylvie pondered. "She's in a difficult situation. The war with Spain is still on, and she's a woman in a man's world, even if on the highest post. She's always been protected from everything while the King was alive, but now she stands alone. It can't be easy."
Constance smiled at her friend. "I would have never believed you would feel sympathy for her," she said.

Their eyes met and Sylvie smiled shyly.
"I just…" She shook her head. "I think, I never knew much about her when she was guarded behind the palace walls."
"But you do now."
"Yes, and I also know how difficult it is for a woman to gain respect among men… as I'm sure you know too."
"As we all do," Elodie added. "But at least we are surrounded by men who do respect women."
The three friends chuckled. Sylvie couldn't resist glancing toward the Musketeers, waiting for their Sovereign to arrive. The Captain and his three friends stood together, occasionally engaged in conversation, only Athos was quiet and seemed deep in thought. A shadow of uncertainty settled on his face as if he was expecting something evil to come into the light any minute. Sylvie knew the name of the evil very well - Grimaud. Until Athos saw his lifeless body with his own eyes, he would know no real peace.

A sudden outburst of cheer and applause made them all turn toward the road again - the royal carriage appeared in the distance, slowly approaching the cathedral.
"We better get inside," Sylvie remarked.
"I want to see her getting out," Elodie remarked, unexpectedly excited all at once.
"We'll be right there, after the Queen enters the church," Constance said to her friend, smiling.

After one last glance toward the carriage, Sylvie walked away, heading for the cathedral to join a few friends from the refugee camp. Suddenly she felt a wave of a strange thrill. The prospect of being invited to a ceremony that was always restricted to royal dignitaries and officials felt both incredible and humbling. For the first time, the whole of Paris was invited to a royal service. The wealthy and the poor, the known and the less known, the privileged and underprivileged would be sitting side by side and witnessing a new dawn of France. For the first time, the boundaries between social classes seemed to have diminished, even if just for a day, and Paris was united.
As Sylvie stepped into the centuries-old shrine, a sudden cold shiver ran through her.
I guess winter is truly upon us now, she thought. However, at the same time, she couldn't suppress the shadow of a foreboding growing in her heart. She put her arms around herself, in an attempt to ward off the chill, sat down at one of the benches in the back and waited.

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The Royal carriage finally stopped on the road, greeted by enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. Aramis stepped to the door and opened it, offering his gloved hand to the Queen. Their eyes met, and their shared joy was palpable. Aramis helped her to get out of the carriage, as she, with a beaming smile, helped the young Louis XIV to follow her.

The musketeer couldn't help thinking that the Queen looked like a breathtaking vision from fairy stories his mother used to tell him when he was a little boy. Her rich cobalt blue dress, illuminated by brass and stone floral ornaments, and the Royal Crown set with large, precious blue stones gave her an otherworldly aura. Her son's clothes and cloak mirrored her colours and together, they created a truly majestic image.

"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Elodie remarked to Constance, as they watched Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan surround the royal pair and walk them towards the Cathedral. "But in the country, few speak well of her."
"Many things will change after today," Constance replied optimistically, happy to see her Queen radiant again and welcomed so warmly.

Elodie smiled at her baby, then her eyes wandered toward the cathedral. A man in a black cloak, dressed as a priest, made his way toward the side door. Elodie's smile faded.
"That man," she said, making Constance look in the same direction.
"He was at the tavern," Madam d'Artagnan replied, remembering finding him in the cellar, in desperate need of medical treatment before he vanished again. "Do you know him?"
The man slipped into the cathedral unnoticed by the crowd.
"The musketeers came to my home looking for him," Elodie answered, a bad feeling creeping into her bones.

Constance's blood froze in her veins, as she connected the dots in her mind. She immediately turned away and hastily started walking toward the Musketeers.
"Oh God…" she mumbled to herself, realising the danger looming above them, pushing people in her way aside.

"D'Artagnan!" she cried at her husband. "D'Artagnan…" she lowered her voice when she finally reached him.
"What's wrong?" he asked, knitting his brows.
"Grimaud…" Constance whispered, catching her breath.
"Where?"
She pointed toward the cathedral. "In there!"

The four men and the other members of the guard immediately formed a circle around the Queen and the little King.

"We're missing half of our gunpowder from the garrison," Porthos said quietly to Athos, frowning. The Captain lowered his head, sighing. "If he's got it…"
"We need to get everybody away from here," Athos replied after lifting his head again.
"Everybody?" Constance asked, stunned.
"Do it, now!" he ordered quietly.

So it begins again… Athos thought, angry and at the same time, anxious to get his hands on Grimaud. He turned to Aramis.
"Take the Queen. He's here," he whispered, then followed Porthos and d'Artagnan to the cathedral.

"We cannot proceed," Aramis informed the Queen calmly, observed by the remaining musketeers and cadets within earshot.
"Why?"
"Grimaud's inside."
A veil of horror fell over the Queen's face after hearing those words.
"We're moving, back to the carriage!" Aramis called to his comrades.

He turned around, taking the future King in his arms. The Queen walked side by side with him, with a distraught expression on her face as she took quick steps.
"The people look to you, Majesty," Aramis remarked while slowing his walk, prompting her to do the same. "Calm."
He looked at the boy in his arms who seemed unaffected by the commotion. "I'm Aramis."
The child smiled, and the musketeer mirrored his expression. Despite the seriousness of the moment, he felt warmth spreading in his chest - the special kind of warmth, reserved only for mothers and fathers.

Meanwhile, d'Artagnan burst the cathedral doors open and entered, followed by his friends.
"Leave the cathedral as quickly as possible!" Porthos ordered the people inside, making his way forward.
"All of you, with us, now!" Constance followed his example.
Sylvie joined Constance. "The Queen…?"
"Go!"

Sylvie understood quickly that time was of the essence and started helping Constance and Porthos move people out of the shrine.

Athos and D'Artagnan ran immediately toward the stairs leading down to the tombs. When they descended underground, they lost their cloaks and the Captain his hat, as well. Their watchful eyes roamed the dim, cold space, lit only by a few torches on the walls.
"Athos!" the Gascon called out, staring on the ground.
The Captain turned around and noticed countless igniter cords lying everywhere around them. When he spotted sparks devouring one of them already, he uttered a simple word, with a strained voice. "Quickly!"

They ran around in all directions, hastily pulling out the cords from the small barrels filled with gunpowder - the same that went missing from the garrison. Running against the time, they quickly managed to avert the danger and with pistols and torches in their hands, they continued the cautious search for Grimaud.

Corridor after dark corridor, they carefully walked on, hoping to spot a trace of their enemy. The light of their torches flickered, creating haunting, dancing shadows on the walls, as they slowly parted and each walked deeper in their respective tunnels.

D'Artagnan was just about to cut the next corner when a suspicious sound made him turn around quickly - just in time because the dark figure of Grimaud raised his hand, holding a sword, and launching an attack on the Gascon. D'Artagnan was quick enough to fire a shot from his pistol at him, slowing the attack. However, Grimaud was relentless. Their swords clashed, and the sound of a fight shattered the silence in the underground.

Grimaud might have been badly injured, but his dark mind was driven by revenge stronger than his physical pain. D'Artagnan was an excellent swordfighter but he, like many before him, quickly understood that even his skills would be tested to the limit. In an unguarded moment, Grimaud lashed out at him, and the blade of his sword grazed the musketeer's cheek. Caught off-guard, D'Artagnan jumped backwards, stumbled and fell to the ground.

Grimaud was raising his arm with the sword, preparing for a fatal blow, when his eyes registered a glow approaching from the corridor around the bend. Within seconds, Athos emerged from the darkness, forcing Grimaud to retreat and disappear, only just avoiding the gunshot from the Captain's pistol. Athos was suddenly very hungry to finish the task ahead - to defeat his Nemesis for good. The shadow he had been chasing for months was finally within reach, and he was not going to let it slip through his fingers again, not this time.

He was just about to run after Grimaud when d'Artagnan's hand stopped him.
"No!" Athos cried when his friend wanted to run with him, putting his hand on the young man's chest to prevent him from doing so.
"What?" the Gascon was uncomprehending.
"I need this!"
"What?!"
"I need to do this… alone." The fires in Athos's eyes were burning wildly, a reflection of the storm brewing inside him.

They stared at each other for a beat, Athos begging for understanding, d'Artagnan slowly realising this was meant to be. It was the only way how the Captain could exorcise his own demon… if the demon didn't destroy him…
He handed Athos his sword, wanting to help at least somehow. His friend was after all famous for his skill of masterfully using a sword with both hands.
"I will not raise your child," D'Artagnan insisted, his eyes on fire, burning into the Captain's.

Athos acknowledged the meaning of those words, then withdrew his hand from d'Artagnan, and armed with both swords, he disappeared in the darkness.

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D'Artagnan was waiting at the same place where Athos left him, restlessly pacing there and back. It wasn't in his nature to stand back passively while his comrades were fighting. The soldier in him was eager to run after the Captain, but the friend in him understood why he couldn't.

Aramis was right; Grimaud awakened something in Athos that had not only robbed him of his peaceful sleep but also caused some deep disturbance in his soul, something that shook his usually stoic and assured self, making him more vulnerable than ever before. That was why only Athos was meant to deal the final blow, only then could he regain his peace…

D'Artagnan listened out for any sound, his nerves strung to the maximum. He forced himself to stop for a moment and leaned against the nearest wall. It was cold, and despite his uniform keeping him relatively warm, the musketeer felt the chill penetrating its layers. For a moment, his mind wandered to Constance, thanking Providence she spotted Grimaud entering the cathedral. He shuttered when thinking of what would have happened if she hadn't.

Grimaud was an evil like the musketeers had not encountered before. The Cardinal, Rochefort, Gaston… not even Feron were as unpredictable as the rogue dressed all in black. All the others were cruel, but it was as if Grimaud was a real dark shadow, a sorcerer appearing and vanishing where he pleased and striking and going for the kill at the most unexpected times, spreading dread even before his physical appearance. His unsuccessful effort to blow up the Cathedral with the Queen and the new King in it must have enraged him. What if he hadn't used all of the gunpowder in his hands? What if Athos is running into a trap with no way to return?

The musketeer's eyes widened just as he heard it – the sharp sound of swords clashing and the subsequent loud splash of something (or someone?) falling into the water. D'Artagnan was done with waiting. He pushed himself off the wall and immediately made the decision.

He ran, following the sounds in the distance.

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