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At the mention of their own lieutenant, the guardsmen hesitated. Cahusac obviously had a sharp answer on his tongue. That a word of honour alone would not suffice here might be connected with old resentment; the scar on his throat was a constant reminder of his first encounter with d'Artagnan. On the other hand; lieutenant de Jussac would indeed not be grateful for the riot, for an arrested officer or even a dead man on the steps. Captain Luchaire was too much of a politician, he left dirty matters to his substitute. While Tréville was happy to enter into any confrontation with Richelieu personally, Luchaire fulfilled his duties from his desk. The captain of the guards was a civil servant, an administrator. Jussac was thus given more responsibility and d'Artagnan rightly referenced him.
Cahusac finally decided with a nod to Sorel. ʹJoin him!ʹ
The younger one was saluting eagerly. He seemed to gladly take on the role of a nanny. D'Artagnan wondered for a brief moment whether he himself had shouted ʹYes!ʹ at the beginning of his career, so enthusiastically and impishly. Sorel was refreshingly innocent and the former musketeer looked at Cahusac with a raised eyebrow. ʹI know the way to His Eminence's study very well.ʹ
ʹThither? Good.ʹ Cahusac pointed behind him with an inviting gesture. D'Artagnan saved himself another sinister look and passed the veteran soldier. With two steps Sorel caught up with him and could not be shaken off or persuaded to turn back.
In the palace, another gallery soon followed the stairs. Richelieu had the former Hôtel d'Angennes magnificently furnished after the purchase. It had already been spacious before, now it could be called highly glamorous, even pompous. Every corner reflected the influence and power of the owner, from the porticoes to the famous gardens. The palace could have belonged to a king because of its sheer size and pomp.
ʹThis way.ʹ Sorel took the lead, and d'Artagnan had to admit reluctantly that the guardsman took a shorter route to their destination than the lieutenant would have chosen. On the way, they met some liveried servants, every now and then also a maid. Soon the whole household would know who was a guest today.
D'Artagnan, with a trained eye, noticed other guardsmen at their posts at seemingly important double doors or stairways, apart from the byways that Sorel and he followed. The sight stung him. An intact guard in the wrong uniform coat. What mockery and ridicule the musketeers would have uttered if the cardinal's guards had been disbanded! But Jussac must have inculcated in his men to keep a low profile and, for the good of the town, not to provoke a dispute about it. That too was aching.
At the gullwing door to the study of the prime minister, two other men stood guard. Sorel greeted his comrades and without further ado or discussion they were allowed to enter the anteroom. Cahusac had indeed made a wise decision not to let d'Artagnan go alone. Sorel was his pass.
D'Artagnan pulled himself together. He had to overcome his own resentment, put his pride aside and act wisely. Serenity instead of anger was required here. He took a few steps into the antechamber, Sorel on the other hand turned to leave, which earned him a surprised look from the lieutenant. The young guardsman seemed to suspect the unspoken question and answered it with a shrug. ʹCahusac waved you through on your word of honour. I have accompanied you, and that settles the matter.ʹ
D'Artagnan nodded slowly. Apparently, he still enjoyed a reputation among his enemies for keeping his word. They gave him far more credit than he was giving himself. He waited until Sorel had left, then he went on alone. Apart from a liveried servant, who watched over the arrangement of chairs and benches along the walls, no one else was present. Well, almost; the lieutenant was also patterned by Rochefort, who happened to be at the other end of the room at the door, which leads to the actual study.
D'Artagnan suppressed an impulse to defiantly cross his arms. He was decidedly too old for such gestures, even though Rochefort was too fond of paternal kindness and forbearance towards him. Instead, he marched over and greeted, ʹYou should have told your master's guards that I had been summoned.ʹ
ʹI would have. If I had actually expected you to show up.ʹ Rochefort made no secret of the fact that he had almost given up on the lieutenant after their conversation yesterday. All the more sarcastically, d'Artagnan remarked, ʹFor so many 'if' and 'would have' you wait for me with surprising patience.ʹ
ʹI prefer small chances, you know that. And I am apparently not waiting in vain, a good sign. How is your black eye?ʹ
ʹYou see signs where there are noneʹ, d'Artagnan announced brusquely, ignoring the question. ʹI may leave at any time.ʹ
ʹAt any time.ʹ Rochefort gave a silent order to the servant, who then left the anteroom. ʹBut only after this conversation.ʹ
He had hardly spoken when the door to the study was opened by another lackey. Obviously, d'Artagnan's arrival had already been announced and for a moment he was flattered that he seemed important enough not to be kept waiting. Of course he was wrong. Rochefort restrained him by the arm as he was already about to cross the threshold.
At this very moment an elderly Monsieur marched out of the study in an angry hurry. D'Artagnan estimated him to be just over fifty years old, his hard gaze from grey eyes and the upright posture referred to a confident character. The expensive clothes, his whole appearance suggested a nobleman of no small rank. A comte or even a duke? A steep pleat stood on his forehead, undoubtedly this man had fallen into conflict with the prime minister. One had to dare to do that with Richelieu!
D'Artagnan could not assign a name to the monsieur, neither from the face nor from the colours he wore. He could not be a frequent guest at royal court. Or his status meant there was no need for him to be permanently near the king and cardinal. There were two other men in his retinue, undoubtedly a personal guard in everyday clothes. An adjutant or secretary and some younger relative perhaps, well trained and loyal.
D'Artagnan immediately evaded respectfully as the monsieur walked past him. His companions followed him in a hurry because of the old man's determination. In passing, d'Artagnan was only honoured by a fleeting glance. Rochefort even received a disapproving frown. They seemed to know each other.
The stable master bowed his head respectfully and d'Artagnan did the same as if he had been ordered to do. Rochefort said half-loud, intended more to enlighten the friend than as an actual greeting, ʹMonseigneur de la Nièvre.ʹ He received no reply.
The name did not sound familiar and a few moments later the three visitors left the anteroom. Their footsteps faded behind the door and d'Artagnan considered this whole encounter unreal. When he looked up again, Rochefort was no longer beside him. Shortly afterwards, he understood the sudden haste with which the stable master had entered the study and where the lieutenant finally followed him into; Richelieu looked bad. The usually so unapproachable, powerful man stood bent over at his desk, as if the responsibility weighed too heavily on his shoulders after all these years of tireless duty. A fine film of sweat gleamed on his forehead. He looked pale, weakened. Now he coughed violently. Rochefort was beside him immediately and handed him a crystal glass of fresh water.
D'Artagnan remained standing undecidedly in some distance. While Rochefort looked after his master, d'Artagnan closed the door discreetly. Partly to make himself halfway useful in this quite unexpected situation, partly to be able to turn away with an excuse and not stare at the cardinal. He covered up his embarrassment by looking at the room. The furnishings were functional. Large windows let in the daylight. The heavy velvet curtains were probably only for decoration, similar to the valuable, heavy tapestry on the opposite. The lieutenant could not identify the motif on the goblin. Something historical or religious, probably, d'Artagnan had never dealt with such things. He was a man of arms and not of art. Therefore, the countless books and codices in the shelves did not only look sumptuous to him but also intimidating. Could a single man read so much in his life? Which of the books were even written by Richelieu himself?
But it was the dark rosewood desk that dominated the study. The furnishings had changed over the years, but the desk remained and seemed to have taken on parts of its owner's personality. It was impossible to imagine how many documents had been lying on it that had determined the fate of a state, a continent, ah! the whole world. The desk was treated with respect, even when the cardinal was not present.
The cough finally died down and d'Artagnan raised his eyes to His Eminence. Richelieu had taken a seat in his armchair and although he still looked pale and exhausted, he sat upright and measured him with an agile mind. Rochefort remained by the cardinal's side, who now imperiously commanded d'Artagnan to approach. ʹUsually you would not think of the lieutenant of the musketeers as a restrained man,ʹ Richelieu commented hoarsely, but with sharp sarcasm. ʹStop guarding the door!ʹ
Abruptly d'Artagnan disengaged from his post and stepped in front of the desk, a no less biting answer on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it down and replied instead, ʹI am in a position where restraint suits me, Monseigneur. I have finally learned that lesson.ʹ
ʹHave you? Your black eye tells a different story. Not to mention Rochefort's account of it.ʹ
ʹYes, not to mention it,ʹ d'Artagnan said with a sinister glance at Rochefort. Then he turned back to the cardinal and looked past Richelieu's left earlobe, at the golden letters of a codex. ʹRochefort mentioned an offer, called it a business. You want my blade for the red guard.ʹ
Richelieu smiled thinly. ʹFamous gascon openness, almost impudence. Good. It was to be feared you would have indeed come to your senses.ʹ
New anger was seething in d'Artagnan, but he controlled himself. He could not let this chance slip away by his own hothead. Even if, apparently, he had only been summoned to be humiliated instead of getting to talk business with the cardinal, d'Artagnan said, ʹIt is always wise to listen.ʹ
ʹWell then, an open word.ʹ The cardinal gave a sign to Rochefort, who now took over and proved that yesterday he had by no means shown his cards completely. ʹYou have just met the Duc de la Nièvre and his entourage.ʹ
When d'Artagnan reacted to this with nothing but a blank face, Rochefort added, ʹThe husband of a niece of Cardinal Richelieu.ʹ
Hardly wiser than before, d'Artagnan frowned. A nephew by marriage who, for some reason, could afford not to kowtow to the prime minister. Probably la Nièvre himself was influential and powerful enough to do so, albeit on a different level than royal court politics. Family affairs, family quarrels. What was that to d'Artagnan? ʹHe is causing trouble?ʹ
ʹHis daughter is the trouble maker,ʹ Rochefort noted succinctly. ʹOdette de la Nièvre. She has disappeared. Having previously fled an arranged marriage into the Palais Cardinal under the protection of her great-uncle Richelieu.ʹ
D'Artagnan felt a slight touch of headache. Apparently the nephew had fallen out with his uncle and was pursuing a marriage policy against Richelieu through his own daughter. ʹMonseigneur did not agree to this proposed marriage either, so he granted protection?ʹ
ʹAstutely detected.ʹ
ʹGet to the point!ʹ
Rochefort waited for the cardinal to give his approval, then finally declared, ʹYou shall find us the mademoiselle again.ʹ
ʹ...in the red guard.ʹ For a moment the musketeers' lieutenant saw the image of a girl dressed as a soldier. Before he could decide whether to find such a masquerade either ridiculous or brave, Rochefort again disturbed his thoughts. ʹThe mademoiselle has a mind of her own and no longer wanted to be a guest here. She was not abducted, we already know that much. No, she voluntarily went into hiding somewhere in Paris to escape all influence - both from her father and the cardinal. We suspect she was receiving help from the palace when she disappeared.ʹ
ʹI see.ʹ D'Artagnan could no longer refrain from a mocking smile. ʹThe master spy cannot find the spy among his own ranks.ʹ
The cardinal remained silent and Rochefort ignored the last remark. ʹThis is where you come in. His Eminence's guard is always present in the palace. The best excuse for you to be here and ask around.ʹ
It was a convincing argument, but d'Artagnan still doubted the plan. ʹWill it be sufficient to find the mademoiselle's friends? I would like to keep my stay in the guard and in the Palais Cardinal as short as possible.ʹ
ʹIt will take as long as it takes.ʹ At last Richelieu spoke again, and despite his frail health, he did not lack authority. ʹYour reward will not be small.ʹ
ʹThe musketeers?ʹ
ʹYes.ʹ
ʹMe as their new captain-lieutenant?ʹ
ʹPossibly.ʹ
ʹMercy for Tréville?ʹ
ʹA good word with His Majesty.ʹ
D'Artagnan remained thoughtfully silent. The offer was good, very good indeed. It was more than he could have hoped for. Rochefort had not promised the moon in this respect. Finding a rebellious young woman again did not seem to be too difficult of a task. There must have had been a catch somewhere. One that he could not see at all.
The lieutenant's period of reflection seemed to have elapsed, as the prime minister was now calling for a decision. ʹWell?ʹ
ʹYes.ʹ D'Artagnan bowed his head resigned to fate and wondered for a moment that it had not been cut off right away. When he lifted his gaze again, his head still sat on his neck intactly, yet there was little benevolence in Richelieu's next words. ʹYou are hereby called up in my guard. You will assume the rank of common soldier.ʹ
ʹWhat...?ʹ Before d'Artagnan could fully comprehend this shocking opening, the prime minister continued harshly, ʹYou are demoted until I decide that you have proven your worth. No more pub brawls. You will learn discipline!ʹ
Rochefort suddenly found himself next to his friend and put a reassuring hand on his arm before d'Artagnan would have risked his head after all. ʹStart at the bottom and you will have more room for manoeuvre in your investigations than as an officer. Do you understand?ʹ
The question was asked so urgently that the degraded lieutenant slowly nodded without thinking. The cardinal had once given him the officer's licence, the cardinal had taken it away from him again. He listend to Richelieu's ʹReport to your superior officer for duty tomorrow morningʹ, as if frozen.
ʹYes, sir.ʹ D'Artagnan forgot the salute when he abruptly turned on his heel and marched out of the study without looking back.
V - Comrades
Rochefort had to admit that d'Artagnan had surprised him. The Gascon had not only chosen the sensible way and agreed to the trade; no, not a single unseemly curse had passed his lips! Even Richelieu seemed to be surprised the outcome when he now turned to his stable master. ʹDeliver the papers to him belated!ʹ
Rochefort bowed and took the conscription order for d'Artagnan. As quickly as the former musketeer had stormed off after this conversation, he had left out the official part with sign and seal altogether. This gave Rochefort the opportunity to discuss some more details with the newest guardsman in private. ʹI shall give him a few hours to calm down.ʹ
ʹInform Captain Luchaire.ʹ The cardinal leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He did not allow himself any more rest then that. ʹOnly what is absolutely necessary. He is a good administrator and a brilliant strategist, but he does not need to know everything.ʹ
ʹUnderstood.ʹ Rochefort kept a furtive doubt about this instruction to himself. D'Artagnan was on his own in his investigation - and about to take his new place in the guard. ʹIs there a deadline for finding Mademoiselle de la Nièvre?ʹ
ʹHer father is aware of the situation.ʹ
Rochefort nodded. This probably meant that for the time being, the Duke of Nièvre was going to lay low and entrusted the search to the cardinal's men. Richelieu opened his eyes again, the short rest had let him at least gain some colour on his face. Rochefort's worried expression seemed to annoy him and he waved him out with a final command. ʹTell d'Artagnan about all details you consider to be important.ʹ
ʹMonseigneur.ʹ Rochefort confirmed the instructions and left the study. Outside the door, he paused to reflect. Details that he himself considered important? Richelieu seemed to want to give his stable master plenty of rope. Good. He could approach a first detail right here and now in the palace.
It was not far to the guardroom, and Rochefort did not even have to walk all the way to it; barely turned a few corners, he met Bernajoux, Biscarat and Jussac at the gallery level. These were exactly the men he had been looking for. Or at least one of them, the lieutenant. Normally, the three inseparable friends knew each other's whereabouts at all times, so Rochefort only had to find one of them at his post to ask about Jussac.
The three red guards stood by one of the columns and seemed to have a comradely conversation before they had to go off to their duties. Everyone could easily see that the men were very familiar with each other. Hardly a word, hardly a gesture was needed for them to understand each other. Just now, they were laughing together, patting each other on the back and seemed to take all the time in the world to themselves.
Rochefort watched the trio. Bernajoux was the most taciturn of them, who only interspersed single words to the conversation. He outdid his friends by almost a head and enjoyed the reputation of being a true wrangler. Whenever one had heard of a duel against musketeers, Bernajoux had certainly been there. The scuffles had left visible marks, which told more than any words. Biscarat often made fun of him, saying that if he was only half as dexterous in speech as he was with his blade, no dame could resist him. But with that scarred face, alas!, he would only be half a Lancelot, not yet disfigured enough to be fascinating to women.
Speaking of Biscarat! Like d'Artagnan, he, too, originated from Gascony. His Spanish mother had inherited not only particularly dark and beautiful eyes to him, but also a strict Catholicism in the land of the cathars and fin'amor. His knowledge of the Spanish language and customs often earned him important missions when Rochefort was absent. However, Biscarat was fully satisfied to be a guardsmen and only occasionally a spy, diplomat or simply an interpreter.
Jussac was very pleased with this attitude, as it meant that he did not lose one of his best men to Rochefort. The lieutenant proudly wore the uniform of the guards. It had become a second skin for him over the years, which he could not remove. He would not have wanted it either, the cardinal's guard was always on duty and vigilant. The commanders of other regiments often tried to poach Jussac, luring him with promotions and numerous privileges. Jussac always refused, his loyalty was to Richelieu, and the cardinal rewarded him with respect for his merits and an increase in pay. Jussac bore a lot of responsibility and frequently had a scowl on his face, especially when he saw His Eminence's stable master approaching. Like at that very moment.
ʹJussac!ʹ Rochefort ignored the barely restrained sighing of the lieutenant. It meant no disrespect to him, but was due to the experience that the stable master's appearance usually meant trouble for the guard.
ʹRochefort!ʹ Jussac called back in an enthusiastic tone, as if he had stood at attention at every ʹJump to it!ʹ This could have been interpreted as pomposity, but Jussac was purely and simply not under Rochefort's command; every now and then he had to remind the stable master of this.
Rochefort passed the group and briefly waved at Jussac to accompany him. Questioning looks were exchanged behind his back. Bernajoux and Biscarat seemed to suspect that Rochefort seriously meant business if he did not respond to the usual teasing between Jussac and himself. The lieutenant told the two friends to wait for him and then followed the stable master to a servants' entrance. There he asked, ʹWhat is so urgent?ʹ
However, Rochefort did not immediately give an explanation and Jussac frowned. He felt mocked, especially since Rochefort now exaggeratedly peered in all directions to see if they were alone. Of course they were not. In this palace, there was always someone around and gossiped later. Very in control, the lieutenant said, ʹThe change of guard is waiting.ʹ
Rochefort finally relaxed and thus, Jussac got even more annoyed. The matter could not be that important and serious after all, if the stable master had time for unnecessary secrecy. As usual, Rochefort did not get to the point immediately, but vaguely beat about the bush. ʹI have an important request to you.ʹ
ʹA... request?ʹ That sounded personal. Jussac looked at his vis-à-vis with new attention. Rochefort seemed calm, but the lieutenant had known him for too many years not to be sceptical. ʹNot an order? Really?ʹ
ʹYes. I have a favour to ask you.ʹ
ʹWhat, me?ʹ Jussac made no secret of his astonishment and improved himself; it had to be very important to Rochefort when he asked him a favour. ʹFor you?ʹ
ʹFor me.ʹ
Silence fell after this. For long moments, the men stared at each other observantly. When Jussac finally realised that no further explanation would follow, he threw his hands up and exclaimed, ʹYes, heavens! So if it lies within my powers, I will do you a favour! Without knowing beforehand what it is about.ʹ
ʹTrust me, it is in your power.ʹ The stable master smiled a touch too smug. ʹEspecially in yours, monsieur le lieutenant.ʹ
ʹNow tell me, what is this all about?ʹ the said lieutenant snorted and was secretly relieved to be mucked around with by Rochefort as usual. This probably meant that the cardinal had not yet met his God and would have left his pitiful creatures to their own devices.
ʹStarting from tomorrow, the guard will have a new man in its ranks.ʹ
Such announcements were usually not delivered by Rochefort. There had to be more to it than that. ʹSomeone you know?ʹ
ʹA... friend.ʹ Rochefort outweighed the clear hesitation in his words by quickly adding, ʹI ask you to keep an eye on him.ʹ
Jussac nodded slowly. ʹAs a commanding officer? I can do that.ʹ He had a watchful eye on each of his men anyway, like the mother hen on her chicks. In these matters, he was in no way inferior to a Captain Tréville, and one more guardsman would be of no consequence. But Jussac suspected that he would soon be in trouble because Rochefort suddenly turned an otherwise self-evident task in a personal favour.
ʹThank you. I am in your debt.ʹ The stable master indeed bowed his head gratefully and unusually relieved, which made Jussac not one bit wiser than before, but all the more angry. ʹYes, damn it! You are in my debt and not for the first time! But far too often I forgot to make you pay. One of these days, Rochefort!ʹ
ʹI will keep that in mind. Maybe.ʹ Before Jussac could get angry again, Rochefort turned to leave, but not without dropping a final remark. ʹYou can meet our newest guardsman tomorrow by His Eminence's study before roll call.ʹ
ʹMe personally?!ʹ
ʹPart of the favour!ʹ threw Rochefort back over his shoulder before he left behind a lieutenant who was as baffled as he was annoyed. It was only after he had blinked vigorously that Jussac came up with an appropriate response to this insolence. The stable master had long been gone by then, and so Bernajoux and Biscarat got the whole whim of their superior when he stomped back to them, muttering curses.
ʹRochefort?ʹ asked Bernajoux in his usual short manner and Jussac growled between his teeth, ʹCertainly, Rochefort.ʹ