A Candle For d'Artagnan

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Who does not believe it?” asked Charles, refusing to be turned away from his purpose.

  Henri sighed. “Oh, Beusseret probably does not. The man is nothing more than a bully in a mantle. I doubt that de Montlezun de Besmaux believes it. He’s an insinuating little rat.”

  “He’s also the poorest man in the regiment,” said de Portau, not as cynically as he would have liked.

  “If he has less money than I do, he’s hardly more than a pauper,” said Charles, chuckling to let the other two know he did not mind being without money.

  “You’re both Gascons,” said Henri. “You can determine which of you is poorer if it is important.” He looked at de Portau with some concern. “Are you really all right, Isaac?”

  “I am improving,” said de Portau. “Who would have thought it?” he went on, determined to make light of his discomfort. “Here we have a Gascon debating with two Bearnais to determine who of us is … the least rich.”

  “I know de Montlezun de Besmaux a little,” said Charles, doing his best to remember the fellow from the King’s Guard. Both of them were sergeants, he knew that, but he had no strong impression of the man other than his obsequious behavior to des Essarts and his other superiors.

  “The man’s a self-serving little weasel,” said de Portau. “Probably treacherous as well.”

  “You don’t like him,” said Henri, dismissing de Portau’s comments. “And you’re a suspicious fellow, Isaac. Have another pickle.” He winked at Charles. “Don’t take what Isaac says too seriously, at least about de Besmaux. It’s not de Besmaux’s fault that he has a long nose and the manners of a notary.”

  “Hah!” de Portau scoffed. “I am a reasonable man, a fair man, a man of excellent judgment. And,” he added with the return of his one-sided smile, “you are right, I dislike him.”

  Charles took up his tankard. “Then we dismiss him.” He drained his tankard and wished it was as simple a thing to put Olivia—who haunted his life like an honorable and tender, half-healed wound—out of his thoughts as it was to ignore the existence of Francois de Montlezun, Sieur de Besmaux.

  Text of a letter from Perceval, acting major domo at Atta Olivia Clemens’ stud farm in Tours to Niklos Aulirios, dictated to Frere Aubri of Sacres Innocentes.

  Greetings to the most excellent major domo, Niklos Aulirios, who has honored me with the task of being his deputy in my lamentable brother’s place, from the stud farm of the widow Atta Olivia Clemens, of Rome, whom we both are fortunate to serve.

  I have been most diligent in following your instructions, and I have put men to investigate the various mishaps which have taken place here since summer. This will serve as my report on our activities. First, we have not been able to determine who set the two bombs in the feed locker that apparently began the most regrettable series of mishaps which have plagued this farm for many months. We were not able to find any more of the two bombs than the fragments which Bondame Clemens herself found. We have arranged for Thumaz’ great nephew to guard the stables at night. He sleeps in the tack room, on a pallet provided for that purpose, and we are paying him as you recommended. Second, we have placed wardens at all the entrances to the stud farm and have kept careful records of all who have crossed the land or made other use of it. Aside from the Freres of Sacres Innocentes, the only men using the entrances often have been shepherds and two cowmen from the adjoining estates. We can produce these records upon your request or the request of Bondame Clemens. Third, we have not been able to discover the cause of the fire that destroyed part of the east wing of the central house of the villa. There were some sticks of wood found which it was thought might have provided kindling for the blaze, but nothing is certain. We have set builders to making the necessary repairs and will include the changes Bondame Clemens has requested. We have not yet begun work on the bath because the earth from Roma has not been delivered. We are told to expect it within the month, but with the winter so hard, it is not likely that we can do much more on the addition until spring. Fourth, the culprit who placed tripwires in the larger paddock has not been found. We have had to destroy eight of the yearlings turned out there, and the farrier has said that one, a filly, may be lamed for life. Since she may be used only for breeding, Bondame Clemens will have to decide if the filly is to be kept or not. Fifth, two more of the wardens have been wounded while on patrol. My brother Octave has sworn on the soul and the grave of our mother that he is not responsible for this dreadful thing, and has offered to send his men to aid the patrols until those who are doing these terrible things are caught and condemned for their crimes. If it were not contrary to Bondame Clemens’ orders, I would be glad to accept Octave’s offer, but I am determined to abide by her instructions, and so I have refused. Sixth, I have requested that the good Freres of Sacres Innocentes keep us informed of suspicious strangers in the area, for many of them come to the monastery for food and shelter. I have been given the assurance of the Abbe that he will extend his cooperation as far as his office permits, and will request that other religious in this neighborhood do the same.

  The winter crops have been disappointing, due to the severity of the weather. Even the number of cheeses are not as high as last year because the cattle and goats have produced less milk. Our sheep have been producing more and thicker wool, which may be the only success we will have this winter. We have two three-year-old geldings, a four-year-old stallion, and five four-year-old mares Evraud recommends be placed on sale, and he has indicated reasonable prices for all. A complete accounting has been placed in the muniment room for your review.

  The footbridge over our stream was badly damaged by rising water and debris three weeks ago, and I have assigned men to work on rebuilding it. In the meantime, a log-and-plank bridge has been set up for those who must cross the stream at that point. Those with carts, oxen, or horses we are instructing to use other routes, for the temporary bridge will not hold up more than simple foot traffic. If there is not more flooding, the bridge will be in good repair by April.

  In the last four months, we have had the Cardinal’s couriers come here six times, which is quite an increase over the previous year. Because of this, I request that Bondame Clemens authorize me to issue arms to the chief warden and a few of the household staff, for as things are, we are not able to protect these men, nor their messages. Should we encounter any serious attempts to intercept the messages carried by these couriers, we would not be able to stop them, which would disgrace us as well as Bondame Clemens. In that regard, we have taken to putting the couriers in the hidden room between the pantry and the smaller salon. The space may be small, but at least it can offer some protection as well as the advantage of concealment, if this is required.

  While no one here seeks to become embroiled in the affairs of the Cardinal, we do wish Bondame Clemens to know that we are good Frenchmen, loyal to the King and the Crown, and we will do all that is necessary to defend this kingdom against the enemies of King Louis and France. If we must aid these couriers and lend assistance to that Italian, we are willing to do it, so that France will not be left at the mercy of her enemies.

  Four of the household servants have become ill this winter, and one has already died. They have all burned with fever, been subject to the flux, and eventually become severely weakened. The woman who has died suffered with a cough for the last two days, and could not find relief in spirits of wine mixed with honey and tincture of monkshood. We fear for the welfare and safety of the others, and have taken care to isolate those who have become ill so that the rest will not take the contagion. However, we have spoken with the monks, and they tell us that with the winter so hard, we must expect that God will call many to His side before spring comes again.

  Let us recommend to Bondame Clemens that if she attempts to come here before spring that she take the road leading through Chartres rather than Orleans, for there has been so much flooding on the Loire between here and Orleans that the road, usually preferable to the road through Chartres, is worse t
han the muddiest cowpath. My mother’s second cousin, a spinster living in Blois, has had to leave her house and take refuge with us because there is so much flooding.

  We have heard rumors that there is to be war again. If at any time Bondame Clemens hears that we may be in danger, I ask that you arrange for us to hear of it at once. We are prepared to defend this estate, and to offer shelter to those made homeless by battle and soldiers, but we are not able to do these things without a little warning. We are relying on Bondame Clemens and her high position to keep us informed of the movements of troops as well as the risks of battle here. In accordance with Bondame Clemens’ orders, there is food enough in the root cellar to last us for two to three months, provided that we do not need to extend hospitality to more than two dozen more persons. We also have rolls of bandages and the medicines left for us by Bondame Clemens, and which the monks assure us they know how to use properly. There is also feed enough for the stock for two months, providing that the horses must be kept in the stable. The dairy also has hay enough for two months, and a good supply of salt so that the cows will not go off giving milk.

  This report is given with respect, and I swear that it is as complete and accurate as I am capable of making it. I pray that it is satisfactory. May God show His Grace to you and to the most esteemed Bondame Clemens.

  Perceval de Rodat

  his mark

  by the hand of Frere Aubri

  at the monastery of Sacres Innocentes

  On the Feast of St. Hilary of Poitiers, 1645.

  4

  “That tree branch ruined all the shutters on the ground floor of the east side,” Niklos informed Olivia as they viewed the damage caused by the two-day storm.

  She nodded, her manner calm now that the worst was over. “Do we have any in the lumber room we can put up for the time being? They don’t have to be pretty, but they need to fit.”

  “I’ll have Meres tend to it,” said Miklos. “I still haven’t got a complete report from the stables.”

  “Small wonder,” said Olivia, who had been there earlier in the morning and tried to calm the horses with little success. “I hope that we don’t have to go through another night like the last two—too many of the horses are almost insane from the storm already.”

  “We could turn them out,” said Niklos without much conviction.

  “If they had been out for most of the winter, I suppose we might. But they would be no calmer, they would just have more room to run and hurt themselves.” She started to pace, going the length of her grand salon before coming back toward him. “I must send a message to Mazarin. His courier was supposed to be here three days ago, and even if the storm has delayed him, it has been too long.” She stopped and rubbed her face. “Unless there has been an accident.”

  “Or worse,” said Niklos, voicing her fears for her.

  “Yes, or worse.” She pulled her fichu more tightly around her shoulders and tightened the knot that held it. “I think I will change to my riding habit. It’s warmer. And it doesn’t have these infernal panniers,” she went on, slapping the wide, flat hoop that supported her velvet skirt. She looked at where water had stained her lavish carpet. “It would probably make sense to rearrange the furniture. The maids will never get this out.”

  “Today?” Niklos ventured as he made some notes with the charcoal stick he carried.

  “Of course not,” Olivia said. “This is merely cosmetic. There is too much damage to be repaired first. I only mention it because—”

  “Because you’ve made up your mind to ride to Paris and talk with Mazarin yourself,” said Niklos, his ruddy-brown eyes revealing his amusement.

  “How did you guess?” Olivia asked him.

  “Long, long acquaintance,” said Niklos, doing his best to give the impression of patient suffering. He indicated the tall windows. “They will need to be sealed again,” he pointed out.

  “Yes. Can we hire a chandler to help the staff? If there’s one thing a ship’s chandler can do, it’s keep out water,” said Olivia, striving to be amusing. “If you haven’t one in the household records, then find someone who can recommend one.”

  “What about Charles? Couldn’t he suggest someone?” asked Niklos with the assumption of great innocence.

  “He’s a Musqueteer,” said Olivia, “not a naval officer.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked over the windows. “Still, I may ask him.”

  “As good excuse as any,” said Niklos, failing to keep the smile from his face.

  “Do I require an excuse?” Olivia inquired.

  “Not from me,” said Niklos gallantly, then went on simply, “Is he what you longed for?”

  “Charles?” Olivia asked, though she had no doubt what Niklos meant. “He is something I never thought to have.” She fell silent, but when Niklos did not respond, she continued, speaking in the Latin of first century Rome. “Before you knew me, before I died”—her hazel eyes took on a distant shine—“there was Sanct’ Germain. Without him I would have perished then. He was my truest ally and most cherished friend when I thought that I was completely abandoned. He was my lover and my deliverer. But he was not my suitor. He did not, he could not court me.” She walked slowly toward the hearth as if drawn by the flames. “Charles wants me. He knows what I am and he wants me, not because of what I am, but because of me.” She shook her head as if coming out of a doze. “I’m saying it badly.”

  “You aren’t,” Niklos told her quietly.

  “I have thought often this last year of the many times Sanct’ Germain has told me that he desires of all things to be known for what he is, all that he is, and accepted as what he is, for himself. I used to think it was the one truly nonsensical thing about him, because I couldn’t imagine that such a thing was possible for those of our blood.” She gave a short sigh and her brow creased with a little frown. “Only now, I find that it is possible, and now that I know it is, I know that I have yearned for it just as Sanct’ Germain has, but unlike him, I have denied it, and pretended I had no need, because I had no hope.”

  Niklos came to Olivia’s side and laid his hand on her shoulder. “And you? Now?”

  She tilted her head so that her cheek rested on his fingers. “I think I am … blessed, though I do not believe in blessings.” She looked away. “And I feel, occasionally, a little guilty, because I have stumbled upon the very thing that Sanct’ Germain has sought for so long. I have it as a kind of gift, unasked-for. And Sanct’ Germain has yet to find it.”

  “Perhaps that is the only way it is found: as a thing unasked-for.” Niklos felt Olivia’s sadness and understood it enough to sympathize with her.

  “Perhaps,” she said, then stepped away. “And if I continue this way,” she said at her most bracing, “I will probably become melancholic and useless. There is too much to do.” She started across the room, her step determined. “I will have Avisa help me dress. In the meantime, find me a horse that isn’t entirely crazed by the storm and see that you use the heavy cavalry saddle on him. I’m going to put breeches on under my skirts, and let those who wish to stare.”

  Niklos gave her a laconic salute. “All right. Do you go with escort or alone?”

  “Alone,” said Olivia as she reached the door. “And do not trouble yourself to object. I know you do not like me to ride by myself, but I will go faster on my own.”

  “And will they let you enter Paris when you arrive, astraddle and unescorted?” He deliberately kept his tone light and teasing, for any other approach was apt to annoy her. “How do you intend to greet Mazarin? He puts a fair amount of importance on decorum.”

  “He also puts a fair amount of stock on information, and the delay of his courier outweighs a question of dress. At least I won’t be going to the gate in armor.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “Not that I haven’t done so in the past.”

  “Perish the thought,” said Niklos, remembering Olivia in armor. “I gather it is useless to try to dissuade you.”

  “It is,” she said, open
ing the door. “I will spend the night in Paris.”

  “Not alone, I trust,” said Niklos, then added with some concern, “Olivia, give me your word you will go to Charles. If there are more plots against Mazarin, I don’t want you keeping near him. Charles will take care of you better than an army of the Cardinal’s Guard could do.”

  “You have my word,” said Olivia as she started out of the room. Before closing the door, she looked back at him. “I would have done it without giving you my word, as well.” She did not stay to hear him laugh.

  Avisa was outraged at Olivia’s instructions about breeches under the skirt of her riding habit. “I suppose that means you will be using a man’s saddle as well,” she burst out indignantly as Olivia started to paw through her drawer of chamises. “What will you say if you are stopped, dressed that way?”

  “I will say I am in a hurry, that it is winter and I want to keep warm. Where are my boots?” Olivia had pulled out one long-sleeved chamise of fine wool dyed a light sage-green. “I want the slate-colored habit, with the capes. And I will need a wide-brimmed hat; that partial tricorn should do, the one edged in black piping.”

  Avisa flung her hands into the air to let the world know that she was helpless against Olivia’s determination. “You will disgrace us all if anything happens to you.”

  “Nothing will happen,” said Olivia, doing her best to sound wholly confident.

  “You are determined on this madness, aren’t you?” said Avisa as she took a pair of heavy leggings out of one of the smaller drawers. “You’ll need these, at least. And your boots are in the chest, where they always are. I had Urbain polish them yesterday. Not that it matters, given the weather.” This last was so glum and foreboding that Olivia looked around at her personal maid.