Greetings, all. Apologies for the delay; real life demands got in the way! I hope to rectify that over the next week or so. Many thanks to all who continue to read and comment.

So, whilst the Musketeers go after Bircann, Richelieu has to deal with the King's mother.

CHAPTER 9

35 DAYS EARLIER

RICHELIEU

As I fasten my cloak around my neck, the door opens to admit the Captain of the Red Guard.

"Is everyone in position?" I ask unnecessarily, for I know the men will have received their orders at first light and will have responded accordingly, but Deschamps is new to his role in command.

He is the third captain I have appointed in little over a year and I hope that he will be considerably better than the promotions I have made in the recent past, although I would never admit it. The first, Canet, was a hard man and the power and authority I invested in him went to his head. It also made him reckless – he must have thought himself invincible, stupid man. He died falling from a roof in pursuit of an intruder to the palace. The second, Alain, lasted a mere two months in position, succumbing to a deadly illness that swept through the poorer parts of the city. I can hazard a guess as to how he contracted that. There are other places closer to the Red Guard garrison where he could have sought female company.

No matter! Deschamps, for all his greenness, has taken to his role with enthusiasm and commitment and can use his brain. Perhaps, at last, I have found someone to rival Tréville's second-in-command. The infernal man! This Athos and his friends are eternal thorns in my side but then, I confess, so is their Captain.

"Ready and waiting, Your Eminence," Deschamp replies, dipping his head in my direction.

Further comment from me is irrelevant and I sweep past him, out of my suite of rooms and into the corridor where ten more of my guards stand patiently, eyes upon me.

I grace them with a nod and stride between them. Footsteps hasten and Deschamps materialises on my right, hand on his sword hilt and he stares fixedly ahead as we move towards the apartment assigned to the King's treacherous mother.

We do not steal silently. I want her to hear us coming, the many booted feet in regimented step marching with purpose to thwart her wild and hopeless plans. I want her to experience those last few moments of freedom, realising that what she intends will come to naught and that there is no escape.

There are two exits from her chambers, one in the next corridor and the one which we rapidly approach; both have my men stationed outside them and all have had clear instruction not to let anyone pass – either in or out.

Marie de Medici has nowhere to run and no-one to whom she can appeal.

As I stand before the door, I briefly wonder if I can prolong her vain hope by knocking lightly, lulling her into a false sense of security by letting her think that, at this early hour, it is a message from her co-conspirators or a servant, sent to her by her trusting son.

A brutal hammering on the door would tell her that her game is up. I decide upon a third option and reach for the handle. To walk in unannounced upon the dowager Queen would be at best disrespectful and at worst, a sign of utter contempt.

The door is locked. Of course it is. We have not hidden our approach.

"Break it down!" I order loudly and stand aside.

Deschamps signals to two men behind us and they move into position but before they have the chance to do anything, there is the sound of a key in the lock and the double doors swing open, held by two ladies-in-waiting, both of whom weep silently.

I stand on the threshold and stare into the room. Directly facing me is the woman herself, standing straight and proud as she fastens a long robe over her night gown, her hair plaited and hanging over one shoulder. She speaks first, her expression and tone full of contempt. My men stream past me, swords drawn as they encircle the six women within the room.

"How dare you, Cardinal. What mean you by coming into my chamber at this unearthly hour and with weapons? The King will hear of this."

"Oh, he already knows, Madam, of what I am about; he is only unaware of the precise hour of this action and I dare do all that is required to ensure the King's safety. That means apprehending all who would move against him."

Her eyes widen and a little of the bravado ebbs away.

"What are you talking about?" she demands.

"You know exactly what I mean, Madam. I refer to the nefarious plot you have hatched with your fellow traitor, Charles Bircann."

She pales at my words. I am really enjoying this.

"Did I mention that he is being arrested by the Musketeers even as we speak? He will be taken to the Chatelet to await trial, but you and I both know that the outcome is inevitable. He will die for his crimes."

She subconsciously puts a hand to her throat; as a nobleman, he will probably be beheaded.

"I still do not understand what this has to do with me," she begins, but her voice falters.

I sigh heavily in mock exasperation. "Do not treat me as a fool. I have the evidence and plenty of it that implicates you in this matter. Let us be honest," I smile at her, but it is more of a victorious smirk, "it is something you have tried before, more than once. Rest assured, Madam, things will not go so easily for you this time. The King tires of your treachery and demands that the matter is resolved once and for all."

She has the temerity to sink to her knees, the horror clear on her face.

"What have you said to him? What lies have you poured into his ear? Let me go to him, speak to him. I can explain …"

"Peace, Madam!" I raise my voice as I interrupt her. "I have told His Majesty nothing but the truth and shared with him the proof. I am in no mood for more of your lies or to hear you begging."

I turn and take a step as if to leave but I half turn back. It is good to see this woman brought low at last. After all her machinations against her son and France, she will pay dearly this time. I have neither forgotten nor forgiven her previous order to have me assassinated.

"'Be sure your sin will find you out, Madam.'" My smile this time is of genuine pleasure at the prospect.

"You hypocrite!" she screams. "You dare to quote the bible at me!"

"I find that the good book usually has a comment or two upon all things in life," I add lightly, undeterred by her insult. "Numbers chapter thirty-two and verse twenty-three seems highly applicable right now."

She screams again, whether in rage or despair, I do not know and I do not care.

My humour disappears as quickly as it came to me, and I frown. "Get some clothes on and tell your women to pack whatever they can for you in ten minutes, at which point Captain Deschamps here will escort you to your new lodgings. You will not be coming back so I advise your ladies to either seek alternative employment or go home."

I nod to Deschamps as I pass him and head back to my own apartment to break my fast. Waking at such an early hour and striking successfully against a major annoyance has given me quite the appetite.

Food first and then I will inform His Majesty of what has transpired.