If it was difficult enough to keep the peace when at least we could feed the city, imagine how the difficulty increased when an entire harvest of grain was stolen overnight. As if I needed more troubles to add to my already very long list. I accompanied Treville to the emergency meeting requested by the Duke of Beaufort, the man who grew the grains which fed our hungry citizens, though I could not help but notice that he was more concerned with his loss of profit rather than the starvation of the city's population. "I'm ruined!" He lamented in such a dramatic fashion that I wished I could roll my eyes at him. "Our family has faithfully served your majesty and his forefathers for generations only for it end like this."
"Calm down, Beaufort," the king sounded as exasperated as I felt. "I'm sure we can do something to help."
"And I am quite certain that his majesty is not to blame for the missing grain," I ventured to say, standing beside Treville as I looked with a steady attitude upon Beaufort, quietly reprimanding him for his impetuous complaining. "It cannot be the king's fault that your grain was taken by someone else's greed." Remonstrated, Beaufort bowed his head though I caught his irked expression to be so dressed down by a mere woman.
"My apologies, your majesty, but the entire harvest is gone." Beaufort returned to the point at hand, and it was indeed a troubling one.
"There are food shortages in Paris already," Treville spoke, already beginning to look upon Feron who kept his head low, avoiding looking at anyone directly with a general shiftiness in his character that I did not much like and was immediately suspicious of. "How could this have happened? Where were the Red Guard?"
"Breaking up the ensuing riot." Feron answered curtly, so I arched my brow at him.
"Oh? Do you mean to imply that the guard were otherwise occupied during the theft? Perhaps I am mistaken, but I am quite certain that the riot and the grain theft could not have happened simultaneously," every word dripped with thinly veiled sarcasm painted with innocence, holding myself amongst these men as a voice of clarity and reason. "Forgive me, but surely you have men enough to control a riot and protect a reserve of grain." Refusing to allow Feron's frail excuse to hold, I glared at him heatedly as he returned with a menacing scowl of equitable dislike.
"The city is in a volatile state, comtesse. My guards do all they can with what resources they possess, but they are not infallible. I would not expect you to understand." Irked by this slight, my mouth pressed together in dissatisfaction as the governor promptly turned to the king, not allowing me the opportunity to argue. "It seems, majesty, the rabble that set up camp in Saint Antoine is responsible." Looking to Treville for an explanation, the king clearly had no idea what 'rabble' his half-brother was referring to.
"French citizens displaced by the war," Treville promptly explained, "they came to Paris for sanctuary."
"The obvious solution is to import a new consignment, your majesty," speaking quickly, Feron seemed all too eager to move the topic onto replacing the lost grain. "But that's likely to prove expensive." The king did not look impressed.
"Why does everything come down to more money?" He demanded unhappily, looking to all of us for an answer which we could not provide. At least, not without making him all the more unhappy. "Isn't the war costing enough?" Inwardly, I could not help but note that if he would but end this insipid war, it would not be such a constant drain upon the royal coffers. Delicately, Feron noted that we could not risk the people becoming more unruly than they already were. Hunger added to unrest was a dangerous and potent mixture. The king looked to Treville, asking his opinion.
"The people expect their quarterly supply," he responded candidly, "it has always been a gesture of the king's good grace…"
"But, of course, the king cannot let his people suffer." Once again, the mere opening of Feron's mouth was enough to stoke my ire. How dare he interrupt Treville? I could not bear to look upon him. He was a weasel of a man, I could not tolerate him at all. "Treville is quite right. I, myself, know someone, a financier who has contacts in the low countries and in England, your majesty. He may be able to help us."
"How convenient…" murmuring under my breath, I turned my head away as I spoke before clearing my throat, hiding my snide remark diplomatically so that it went unnoticed but for a wry glance of suspicion.
"Very well." Louis decided firmly, looking resolved. "I will meet the costs, this once."
"But, your majesty, in the meantime, what about me?" Beaufort spoke to remind us of his presence, and also, his loss. "I've lost everything."
"Don't be tiresome, Beaufort," the king drawled in a manner I could not help but find amusing. "I will compensate you too." He smiled mischievously. "Within reason." I will admit, of late, I had grown rather fond of King Louis. He was far less impetuous than he had been four years ago, and in truth we had become rather familiar with one another. He now knew my name and did not forget it, and sometimes would even invite me to sit with him and share a glass of wine or two if we had matters of business to discuss. We were not friends, but rather, Louis seemed comfortable with my presence. Usually, he would ask after the prince and the queen's health, their happiness, and gradually he would talk to me in a manner that felt rather casual.
Of course I never allowed etiquette to disperse, but sometimes I would look upon the king and see that he was different. Rochefort's betrayal had struck him terribly, and after the war had taken away his most trusted and loyal musketeers to the frontline of battle, it seemed only I was left whom he felt he could trust. Once, when the wine had been consumed to the point of drunkenness, Louis had confessed that he found me refreshing in a manner he could not quite explain. He had admitted that he found my presence a comfort, as I was quiet yet candid, that he could trust my word and intellect, but also that I would remain as loyal as even his most devoted musketeers.
I had realised then that he was a man wracked with nightmarish terrors for his own life, struggling to bring himself to trust anyone other than his own men and the queen, with the exception of myself. That night, I had tucked him into his bed and sang him soft lullabies, soothing him into sleep and kept him company so that the nightmares would not plague him. I understood. I understood how the terrors of the dark would creep into the mind when it was vulnerable. Perhaps the king also understood that of everyone in the palace, perhaps even in France, I was the only one who could empathise how he felt, for I suffered them too.
We never spoke of that evening, but I became aware of a general softness Louis possessed towards me thereafter. If ever I spoke, no matter how improper, he never admonished me for it. This was what gave me the courage to consolidate my position as a favoured member of the court. It became clear that the king would not chastise or inhibit my actions, for always they were in the interest of the crown and France. He trusted me, as did Anne. It gave me power in a way that no one could rival. It was why sometimes, even Governor Feron must bow his head to me. What solidified my authority more than anything, was the fact that I did not abuse it.
I used it only when necessary, and always discreetly. Knowing that I was a woman, I could not expect to walk into a room full of men and expect them to bend to my whims. My influence had to be more subtle, a gentler approach to the often strong arm of men. In fact, it was often more effective, for a man would more willingly follow the word of a woman if it was given with a smile and a tender plea. Whatever I could do to protect Anne and Louis, as well as the precious dauphin, I was not above kneeling before God and begging with all my heart. Thankfully, there had been no need as of yet to prostrate myself before the Almighty. After four years cultivating this practice, I was quite adept at knowing when to push a little to remind someone of their duty. As such, when Treville informed me of the current state of the refugees in prison, d'Artagnan having been arrested amongst them for affray, I sought out the magistrate assigned to the case.
I spoke to him in private, delicately inquiring about the affair before exhaling softly. "I worry for these poor souls. Arrested without evidence upon the word of Duke de Beaufort…do you often find, Magistrate Bellavoix, that the commonfolk are condemned upon the word alone of someone higher in rank?" Looking upon him, I made no attempt to hide the unspoken meaning behind my words, giving the magistrate cause to think of the lack of evidence against the refugees. "I pray God watches over the innocent, for the word of man is liable to be veiled in lies and deceit. It would bring me comfort to know that they will not be so condemned as so many of their like have been." Holding his papers against his chest, Magistrate Bellavoix bowed cordially.
"Rest assured, dear Comtesse, the refugees shall not be mistreated or misjudged. I will consider the evidence clearly, if it can be provided."
"This does indeed put my mind at ease, although I worry that there may be something more nefarious at work here," musing to myself but allowing the magistrate to listen, I rubbed convincingly at my temple. "I find it all too convenient that the grain should vanish and immediately the duke blames the refugees. What use have they for grain? They would be better off stealing from a baker's shop than a storehouse."
"Indeed…you raise an excellent point, comtesse. I shall keep this in mind when reviewing the matter."
"I must thank you, magistrate, for listening to my silly little concerns. You must be a busy man, I will not keep you any longer." My pretty words made a flush upon the magistrate's cheeks, smiling bashfully as he assured me that he would always spare the time to address my concerns, thanking me once again for my insight before going away. As I said, subtle suggestions went a great deal further than outright orders in most cases. Then again, barking commands still held a certain degree of satisfaction.
Resolving myself to take a more direct hand in the matter for the sake of the refugees, I informed Anne that I would be absent for the rest of the day then made for the garrison. I was no stranger there and the cadets all greeted me warmly, some even rushing to me to ask if I had need of anything. So young and eager, I was exceedingly fond of them. Some I had even taught to shoot, giving them lessons when experienced instructors were short of hand. With Treville often busy and our most seasoned soldiers at the battlefront, these cadets were often left rather stranded.
Between Constance and I we had managed to keep them busy, giving them tasks to teach them discipline, and once they had grown accustomed to me, I taught them to shoot and fight. At first they had been hesitant to train with me as their opponent, some even outright refusing to fight a woman, but a clear demonstration of my ability quickly silenced them, and a word from Treville had them following my instruction eagerly. Gradually, I had earned their respect. At least now with some of the men returning from the war meant they would have a more constant tutelage; these cadets might one day earn their commissions.
After exchanging pleasantries, I asked after my brother but was informed that he had not yet returned from Saint Antoine, so I decided to wait for him in the office, which had once been Treville's. During his absence, I had returned periodically to dust and clean. It was always ready for Athos's return, the linen sheets of the bed changed weekly as if expecting him any day. It was a ritual that had helped me maintain my sanity during the long weeks or months I went without any word from him. Entering that familiar office, I smiled nostalgically as I ran my hand over the desk, clean from dust from my last visit. It truly was wonderful to have my brother back. To have all of them back, though Porthos' return still brought a sense of apprehension and unease.
I was resolved to find peace, and I had almost found it when he was far away from me, but now he was back. Moving towards the window I closed my eyes and tilted my face back, exposing my throat to the sunlight. I quelled any thriving emotions, masterfully containing them for they were not wanted nor needed. I would conquer this. If what I had felt for Aramis had been a flutter, my feelings for Porthos were a hurricane, yet I would not bow to them. I was the master of my own heart, my own body. I would not wither and weep like a scorned maiden simply because the man I loved had chosen not to love me in return.
Porthos had made his sentiments clear, and I did not expect that after four years of separation they had changed. Despite the difficulty now, I looked forward to the day the feelings would fully subside and we could return to how things were before, and my quiet love would endure like a subtle ember fiercely protected from fading completely. I exhaled softly, basking in the light of the sun and enjoying the solitary peace I so rarely found these days. Almost every second outside of sleep was occupied by one person or another. In the palace, there was no escaping the presence of another person.
Here, in the captain's office, I was finally alone. Undisturbed. It was a rare luxury and I basked in serenity until I heard the distinctive approach of several footsteps, recognising several. The door opened to admit Athos, Constance, Aramis, Porthos, and a woman I did not recognise. My brother blinked at me, but softened at my unexpected presence. "Madeleine," the tender murmur brought me comfort and I smiled as he approached me, brushing his hand to my arm as he kissed my cheek. "Is everything alright? Why are you here?"
"I am here to offer my assistance, brother," I explained as I naturally lifted my fingers to his hair, brushing his locks aside to neaten them whilst gazing upon him with utter adoration. "We have been apart too long. I will gladly accept any excuse to be with you for every moment I can grasp." Offering one of his rare smiles, Athos kissed my face a second time before taking my hand. He offered me the seat behind the captain's desk but I preferred to stand, allowing him to take it as the woman was brought inside and invited to take the other available chair. "And who is this lovely young lady?" I queried, making her look to me with sharp surprise.
"This is Sylvie, she is one of the refugees from Saint Antoine," my brother introduced as he placed a sheet of paper upon the desk, my eyes flickering towards it and noticing the bold symbol it bore, scanning its letters to recognise that it was a pamphlet, one that if seen by the wrong person, would have had this Sylvie arrested and executed. The king would not take kindly to notions of dissent, discontent and rebellion. "This is my younger sister, Madeleine, the Comtesse de la Fère," Immediately Sylvie's handsome brow pulled together in confusion, wondering how I could bear the title which rightly should belong to my brother.
"Must you really enforce that I am your younger sibling, dear brother?" Pushing lightly at his shoulder, Athos's mouth curled slightly before it swiftly vanished. "Is this pamphlet yours, mademoiselle?" Deftly touching the pamphlet, Sylvie looked upon it before turning her head, refusing to answer. I looked at Athos, then to Aramis and Porthos, before finally turning to Constance. They were all on edge, I could feel the tension in the room as if it were manifested into a tangible object. Eventually my brother broke the silence, lifting the pamphlet to Sylvie with a questioning look.
"You have more of these?" Still tight lipped, Sylvie refused to answer. A wise choice, but not entirely helpful to us.
"This could condemn all of the prisoners, d'Artagnan too." Constance reasoned earnestly, so I moved towards her and took her hand in silent reassurance. D'Artagnan would be perfectly alright. I had already received assurances that he would be released in the morning without harm, however the same could not be said for the rest of the refugees. They had been scheduled for execution, but a little influence from me had stayed their sentence, even without evidence condemning them. I had reasoned that it did the king no good to have his loyal subjects executed without viable proof they had committed a crime, and the absence of which was more a testament to their innocence than their guilt. With such words, their death sentence had been commuted, but they were to be held indefinitely until the accusations could be proved or disproved. I hoped for the latter.
"The pamphlet is old," Aramis spoke in reason, noting the condition of the paper which I too noticed, "the ink is faded."
"Some would consider the ideas dangerous." Finally, Sylvie opened her mouth to speak, calm and unafraid despite the incriminating evidence she possessed.
"My father would say they're only dangerous because they still matter." Sylvie possessed a pleasant voice, and I admired her courage as she looked unblinkingly at my brother, even with the imposing figure of Porthos standing behind her.
"Oh, they're his ideas?" He questioned, slightly disbelieving. "What, he incited people?"
"Inspired them," Sylvie corrected.
"To revolt!"
"To fight for change for a better life." Still unaffected by Porthos and his incensed tone, Sylvie turned in her seat to look upon him, and I found myself admiring her for her gall. Whoever this woman was, she had courage and conviction. I appreciated such characteristics. "Take a look around you. Would you really leave Paris as it is?" Not only conviction, but clarity of mind also. Just where had this jewel of a woman been hiding? Before anything further could be said, a rush of footsteps, the door bursting open, and the eager cry of Clairmont came tumbling inside.
"Madame d'Artagnan! Madame d'Artagnan!" The fresh faced cadet froze when he realised that he was stood amongst veterans and superiors, blinking in a momentary daze. My brother admonished the boy with wry sardonicism.
"We used to knock." Clairmont apologised quickly, Constance then inviting him to speak since he clearly had something important to say.
"I've found something." We waited for a moment, expecting him to continue but when Clairmont did not, Athos exhaled in exasperation.
"Well? Spit it out then,"
"Yes sir, I mean…you'll have to come see. I think we might have found some of the missing grain." Immediately I straightened, my hand drifting to touch my brother's shoulder as Constance also inhaled a take of breath.
"You're sure?"
"Yes madame. I'm positive."
"Well then, lad. You had best lead the way." Spreading his hand to indicate that Clairmont should go ahead, the cadet nodded then eagerly started off at a sprint until I laughingly called after him.
"Steady, Clairmont. What have I told you about rushing?" Now he blushed slightly, his mouth quirking in a bashful smile.
"Rushing leads to mistakes, sorry comtesse. Please, follow me," moving more slowly now, Aramis and Porthos followed after him and with a quick word to Athos, I also proceeded after them. I wanted to see for myself about this grain, for the stability of Paris depended upon us finding who had stolen Beaufort's harvest. Not only to clear the names of the refugees, but also to keep the peace, it was important that I assisted in any manner possible. As the queen's agent, I saw it as my duty to intervene if necessary, or at least to observe the progress of the investigation where I might.
Clairmont brought us to a quieter part of one of the market squares, there being many throughout the city, but this one was coincidentally close to the garrison. Aramis ordered three more musketeers to join us just to be safe, and I did not miss the fact that he had glanced towards me as he had done so. I challenged him with a raised eyebrow. "I hope you do not mean to infer that I am the one who requires protecting, Aramis." Sensing the trap within my question, Aramis expertly sidestepped the danger.
"Of course not, my sweet," he told me sweetly, capturing my hand with a kiss. "It is for the protection of those who might stand in your way." Pausing a moment to consider this answer, I deemed it an acceptable one. Four years had been a long time in separation, but I had not been idle in that time, and neither had Constance. We had honed our skills with blade, pistol and in my case, bolts and arrows. Even now I was armed, though none would be able to tell by looking at me. My pockets contained my handheld crossbow as well as the stiletto dagger which had become my faithful companion.
It had protected both myself and Anne many a time, as well as the king of late. Spain had sent one or two assassins, aiming to kill the king or even once, kidnap the little prince. As luck would have it, I had been tending to him that night, and the assassin was not aware of my presence in the prince's chambers. Before he had even approached the sleeping dauphin, I had slipped behind him, clamped a hand over his mouth to silence him, then driven that same blade under his ribs to kill him silently. Little Louis had dreamed on peacefully, none the wiser for I eradicated the evidence of death, and we had sent the assassin back to King Philip of Spain in a box as a warning.
I did not feel safe unless I had some weapon upon me. Following Aramis and Porthos, looking upon their backs, my hand stole upwards to the pendent around my neck. After Rochefort had taken it, it had been recovered and returned to me along with the two signet rings signifying my rank as Comtesse and the Queen's agent. The ring of my family, and my own personal ring bearing the wren crested with the musketeers' arms. I felt exposed without them, as if they had become part of my being and losing them was akin to losing a finger. I drew comfort from their feeling, their meaning, and as I continued after Aramis and Porthos, I considered just how much I had truly missed them. More so, I considered how much I had missed this. Investigating. Acting in the interests of France. Those four years suddenly felt like an age, and all at once I resented them for being gone for so long, and loathed the war all the more for being the reason one of them had left.
Dwelling in dark thoughts, the bitterness almost took hold as it sometimes did, seeping into the cracks the scars left upon my body until the voice of the grain seller cut through my reverie, bringing me back to the present. I shook my head and clutched my pendent more tightly, cleansing myself with a breath before I kissed the crest then allowed the pendent to drop back against my chest, resting beside my heart. "One cup per person, three livres, take it or leave it!" A steep price for only one cup. Yet still, crowds of people starving from hunger gathered to pay the price for just a small measure of grain.
"We checked all the local markets, found nothing," Clairmont explained as we neared, and I drew closer to listen, drawing myself towards Aramis in an active attempt to avoid Porthos. I did not trust myself to be too near to him. "On the way back, we came across him."
"Good work," praising the boy, we waited for a moment to watch the scene before us.
"You wretched bunch of rodents, money first!" Nothing sickened me more than someone profiting from the suffering of others. Were it possible, I should like to have introduced a mandatory price limit upon vital commerce goods such as grain. I had noticed many merchants raising their prices to profit from the desperation of those who were hungry.
"We should have a little talk with the trader." Speaking quietly as not to draw attention to our presence, Aramis eyed the vendor carefully as I folded my arms across my middle. "He could benefit from our special brand of our tact and diplomacy." At this, I looked at Aramis inquisitively, uncertain of what he meant. Porthos smirked.
"It's been a while." Gradually realising their intention, I stifled a chuckle and discreetly moved to the side so that I was out of sight but able still able to see, drawing Clairmont with me so that he could observe and learn. This would be a valuable lesson to the cadet, and a great amusement to me. All at once Aramis charged forwards with a startling bellow, scattering the crowds instantly as they fled in terror. He grasped the vendor by his clothing, even going so far as to kick the barrel the bucket of grain stood upon, spilling it to the ground. silently, I moved along the outside of the colonnade, observing with Clairmont at my shoulder. Porthos grasped the vendor when Aramis released him, dusting him down with convincing apologies. "Oh, I'm ever so sorry about this. It's just that my friend here is certain that this is one of the sacks stolen from the Duke de Beaufort's store, you see."
"It has the king's mark." Retrieving the sack from the ground where it had fallen, grain spilling everywhere, Aramis revealed the mark upon the hessian sack, denoting it as belonging to the king. The vendor paled visibly as Porthos kept a firm arm about him, keeping the vendor from potentially fleeing.
"Oh, yes, so it does." Covering my mouth with my hand to hide my sniggering, Clairmont laughed a little too loudly so I elbowed him in the gut, turning the laugh into a convincing cough to conceal the sound.
"You're looking at a charge of treason." Pointing to the vendor accusingly, Aramis made an excellent show of incensed rage. Perhaps the clergy truly hadn't been his calling. He should have looked to an acting profession instead.
"I never saw the man before," needing no further encouragement to loosen his lips, the vendor readily told us everything he knew in a bid to keep himself from the charge of treason, which carried the penalty of death. "He was selling off the wagon behind the market square!" Hissing, Aramis bellowed at the vendor, claiming that he was lying before striking at an innocent market stand whereby his fist crippled a wooden post, breaking it in two. I shall admit. Even I was unnerved at this display of aggression. Definitely acting would suit Aramis's skill.
"Oh, my!" Porthos gaped, his acting ability more comical than believable, but the vendor was so terrified that he did not seem to notice as Aramis turned towards them and made to lash out with a strike but Porthos naturally held up a finger, stilling Aramis before his kick could land. "Aramis! No. No more breaking legs." I stifled another laugh and hushed Clairmont as he too struggled.
"I never knew it was crooked!" The vendor cried, and I pitied the man as Aramis seized his arm, making the man whimper in terror.
"Maybe just an arm, huh?" Turning to Porthos in desperate hope of protection, Porthos shook his head, whispering that it was his last chance to speak the truth, otherwise Aramis might very well break his arm and everything else. The threat alone was more than enough, and the last of the vendor's secrets were shaken free.
"The wagon, it was branded with the sign of a star. That's all I know. I swear. On my bones!" They held him for a few moments longer, waiting to ensure that this was everything he had to say before Porthos let him go and encouraged him to flee. Once he was out of sight, Clairmont and I stepped into view, struggling against our desperate to laugh until eventually we could contain it no longer. We grasped our stomachs and fell against the columns to keep from falling to our knees, laughing until we were wiping away tears.
"Well, I'm glad we were entertaining if nothing else," speaking once our laughter had quelled enough for him to be heard, Aramis looked upon us with mirth. "Anyone know who owns a wagon with a star brand?"
"As a matter of fact," I wheezed, smiling so liberally that I could not remember the last time I had laughed so much, I calmed myself enough to draw myself upright and clear my throat, adopting my professional manner as I faced Aramis and Porthos. "I do."