“There are no buts.”
“But Monsieur d’Artagnan offended me cruelly,” Milady objected in low, throaty tones. “Monsieur d’Artagnan shall die.”
“Is it really possible to offend you, Madame?” he asked. “So my friend ‘offended’ you and must pay for it with his life?”
“Exactly. First your friend, then the Bonacieux creature.”
Athos felt his head spinning. The sight of this beautiful woman, a monster at heart, filled him with loathing. Memories of her fascination and villainy rose within him. He recalled how in less dangerous times he had once wished to sacrifice her to his honor. Suddenly his desire to destroy her coursed feverishly through him; he rose, drew a pistol from his belt and cocked it carefully Milady, pale as a corpse, tried to cry out but her swollen tongue failed her. Hoarsely she groaned like a wild beast. Standing immobile, etched against the dark tapestry, her hair disheveled, she looked for all the world like the incarnation of terror. Slowly Athos raised his pistol, stretched out his arm so that the weapon almost touched Milady’s forehead and in a voice the more terrible because so calm and so resolute:
“Madame,” he said, “you will this instant give me the paper the Cardinal signed or upon my soul I will blow your brains out.”
With any other man Milady might have preserved some doubt, attempted to parley or tried to evade the issue. With Athos she knew this was useless. Yet she stood motionless.
“Madame,” Athos warned, “you have exactly five seconds in which to make up your mind.”
By his frown and the contraction of his features Milady knew that he was in deadly earnest. One second—two—three—and she reached quickly into her bosom, drew out a paper and handed it to Athos.
“Here it is,” she snarled, “and be damned to you!”
Athos took the paper, restored the pistol to his belt, drew up the lamp to make sure it was the proper document, and read:
December third, 1627
It is by my order and for the service of the State that the bearer of this note has done what he has done.
Signed by my hand at the Camp of La Rochelle
Richelieu
Satisfied, Athos put on his cloak again, crammed his hat on his head and without vouchsafing her a glance:
“Farewell, viper,” he said. “I have at last drawn your teeth; bite me if you can.”
At the door, he found the two men Richelieu had appointed to escort Milady.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “you know the orders His Eminence gave you. You are to convey this woman forthwith to the Fort de La Pointe without leaving her out of your sight until she is safely embarked.”
As this agreed perfectly with their previous instructions, the pair bowed. Athos swung into his saddle and galloped down the road but when out of sight turned across country, pausing every now and then to listen. Presently he heard the sound of hoofs on the road and, certain it was the Cardinal and his escort, he wisped his horse down with heather and leaves and suddenly appeared on the highway two hundred yards from the camp.
“Who goes there?” he challenged as the horsemen advanced.
“That must be our gallant musketeer,” said the Cardinal.
“Ay, Monseigneur, at your service.”
“Monsieur Athos, my thanks for your assuring my security,” the Cardinal said. “And thank you, too, gentlemen,” he said to the others. “We are home safe and sound. Take the gate on the left, my friends. The password is Roi et Rè. Goodnight and thanks again.”
His Eminence was no sooner out of earshot than Porthos inquired:
“The Cardinal signed her paper, eh?”
And Aramis:
“What happened?”
“I have the paper,” Athos told them. His taciturnity prevailed upon them; no word was exchanged save the watchword as the three friends were challenged by sentries. Reaching their quarters, they dispatched Mousqueton with orders to invite D’Artagnan to call on them next day.
Meanwhile, as Athos had foreseen, Milady found her escort and made no difficulty in following. For an instant she had felt inclined to ask to be conducted back to the Cardinal and to report all that had happened. But she quickly realized that any revelation on her part would bring about a revelation on the part of Athos. She might tell how Athos had hanged her but then he would tell that she was branded. It was best to preserve silence, she decided, to set off discreetly, to accomplish her difficult mission with her usual skill and then, when all had been done to the Cardinal’s satisfaction, to go back to him and claim her vengeance.
After traveling all night she reached the Port de La Pointe at seven o’clock; by eight she had embarked, and at nine the vessel (which bore letters of marque from the Cardinal and was supposedly sailing for Bayonne) quietly raised anchor and steered its course toward the English coast.
XLVI
THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS
On arriving at the lodgings of his three friends, D’Artagnan found them together in the same room; Athos was meditating, Porthos was curling his mustache and Aramis was reading his prayers out of an attractive little Book of Hours, bound in blue velvet.
“Pardieu, gentlemen!” cried D’Artagnan. “I hope what you have to tell me is worth the telling. Otherwise I warn you I shan’t forgive you for summoning me here when I might be getting a little rest after a night spent in capturing and dismantling a bastion. Oh, if only you had been there, gentlemen; I had a hot time of it!”
“We were somewhere else,” said Porthos, twirling his mustache with a characteristic flourish. “And the temperature was far from cool.”
“Quiet!” Athos admonished, frowning slightly.
“Well, well,” D’Artagnan exclaimed, understanding the musketeer’s reaction. “Apparently there is something new afoot.”
Athos turned to Aramis.
“The day before yesterday, Aramis, you breakfasted at the Sign of the Heretic, did you not?”
“Certainly.”
“Is it any good?”
“For my part, I fared poorly. It was a day of fasting and they had nothing but meat.”
“What?” Athos asked, incredulous. “No fish at a seaport?”
“They say,” Aramis explained as he returned to his pious reading, “that the dike the Cardinal is building has driven all the fish out to sea.”
“That is not what I asked you,” Athos objected. “I want to know if you were left alone and if no one bothered you.”
“Come to think of it, there were not too many intruders. Indeed, Athos, for what you have in mind, we would do quite well at the Sign of the Heretic.”
“Let us go there, then,” Athos suggested, “because here the walls are thin as paper.”
D’Artagnan was accustomed to his friend’s behavior; he could sense immediately by a word, gesture, or sign from him that the situation was very serious. He therefore took the musketeer’s arm and they went out together in silence. Porthos followed, chatting with Aramis.
On their way they met Grimaud. Athos beckoned him to follow; Grimaud, according to custom, obeyed in silence. (The poor lad had almost reached the point of forgetting how to speak.)
They arrived at the tavern of the inn at seven o’clock, in early daylight. Having ordered breakfast they repaired to a room, where, according to the innkeeper, they would not be disturbed.
Unfortunately they had chosen a bad hour for a secret conference. Reveille had just sounded; from all parts of the camp the troops, shaking off the drowsiness of night and eager to dispel the humid chill of the morning air, flocked to the inn for an eye-opener. Dragoons, Swiss mercenaries, guardsmen, musketeers and hussars appeared with a rapidity much appreciated by the innkeeper but most unwelcome to our four friends. They replied to the greeting, toasts and jokes of the other patrons with a very sullen air.
“O Lord!” Athos groaned. “I see what is going to happen. We shall get into some gay little brawl or other and that is the last thing we should do at the moment. Come, D’Artagnan, tell us about your experiences last nig
ht and we will tell you about ours.”
“Yes, yes,” said a hussar who had overheard them. Sipping his brandy mincingly, he struck a foppish attitude. “I hear the guardsmen held the line last night. They seem to have been handled rather roughly by the defenders of La Rochelle.”
D’Artagnan looked up at Athos inquiringly. Should he answer this intruder?
“Well, D’Artagnan,” Athos asked. “Monsieur de Busigny has done you the honor of speaking to you. These gentlemen are eager to know what happened last night. Won’t you satisfy their curiosity?”
“Dittent you shtorm a pashtyun?” asked a Swiss mercenary, who was drinking rum out of a beer glass.
“Yes, Monsieur!” D’Artagnan bowed. “We had the honor of storming a bastion. Perhaps you have heard that we also set a barrel of powder under one of the angles. The fireworks, when it blew up, made a sizable breach in the walls. I might add that since that bastion was not built yesterday, the whole structure was considerably unsettled.”
“What bastion was that?” asked a dragoon on his way to the fireplace, his sabre spiking a goose he was about to roast.
“The Bastion Saint-Gervais,” D’Artagnan answered. “The bastion from behind which the men of La Rochelle were irking our workmen.”
“Did you have a hot time of it?”
“Tolerably hot. We lost five men, those of La Rochelle lost eight or ten.”
“Balzempleu! Py te ploot of Gott!” cried the Swiss who, despite the admirable collection of oaths afforded by the German language, had acquired a habit of swearing in French.
The hussar shrugged his shoulders: “This morning they will probably send in a squad of pioneers to repair the damage.”
“Yes,” D’Artagnan agreed. “They probably will.”
“Is any gentleman here willing to lay a wager on it?” Athos asked.
“A vacher, ja, a vacher!” said the Swiss.
“What kind?” asked the hussar.
“A wager on what?”
“Just a minute,” the dragoon interrupted, setting his sabre like a spit on the huge andirons in the fireplace.
“If you are betting, count me in! Ho, landlord, damn you, fetch me a pan forthwith! I’ll not lose a drop of the fat dripping from this estimable fowl.”
“Recht he iss,” agreed the Switzer. “Ffatt of goosse she is fery goot mit schweetmeats.”
“There; I’ve cooked my goose! Now—what price your wager, Monsieur Athos?” the dragoon challenged. “We are listening!”
“The wager!” cried the hussar, “the wager, Monsieur Athos!”
“Very well, gentlemen, here it is. I bet that my three friends, Porthos, Aramis, D’Artagnan, and myself will breakfast in the Bastion Saint-Gervais and that we will stay there over an hour, watch in hand, no matter what the enemy might do to dislodge us.”
Porthos and Aramis exchanged glances; they were beginning to understand what Athos had planned.
“Look here, Athos,” D’Artagnan whispered, “you are about to send us out to slaughter!”
“We are far more likely to be slaughtered if we don’t go.”
“To the wager, gentlemen, to the wager,” said Porthos, tipping his chair and twirling his mustache. “May it be a good one!”
“Done!” said Monsieur de Busigny. “What is the stake to be?”
“We are four and there are four of you,” Athos replied. “The stake is a dinner for eight convivials, with no limits on the menu.”
“Agreed!” said Monsieur de Busigny.
“I concur!” said the dragoon.
“Vell, I vill bett ahlso!” said the Switzer.
The fourth challenger, who had said no word, raised his hand in agreement!
“Breakfast is ready, gentlemen,” the innkeeper announced.
“Bring it in then!” said Athos.
When the innkeeper had obeyed, Athos sent for Grimaud, pointed to a large basket which lay in one corner of the room and signaled to Grimaud to wrap up the food in the napkins. Grimaud understanding that Athos planned a luncheon al fresco packed food and bottles in the basket and picked it up.
“Where are you going to eat my breakfast?” the innkeeper asked.
“What business of yours, so long as we pay for it?” Athos replied, tossing two pistoles majestically onto the table.
“Do you wish the change, Lieutenant?”
“No, landlord. Just add two bottles of champagne. What is left will pay for the napkins.”
The innkeeper, disappointed in the profits he had hoped for, made amends by supplying two bottles of Anjou instead of two bottles of champagne.
“Monsieur de Busigny,” said Athos, “will you be so kind as to set your watch with mine, or permit me to set mine with yours?”
“Certainly, Monsieur,” the hussar replied, producing a most handsome watch, studded with diamonds. “It is now half-past seven.”
“I am five minutes fast,” said Athos, “I make it twenty-five minutes to eight. Pray to take note of this, Monsieur.”
Bowing to an astounded company, the four young men set out toward the Bastion Saint-Gervais, Grimaud in their wake, the basket under his arm, unaware of where they were off to but passively obedient by wont, never dreaming of questioning his master.
Whilst they crossed the camp, the four friends proceeded in silence, followed by a lot of soldiers who had heard about the wager and were anxious to know what would come of it. But once they had cleared the line of circumvallation and found themselves in the open, D’Artagnan, completely mystified, thought it timely to ask for an explanation.
“Now, my dear Athos,” he pleaded, “will you kindly tell me where we are going?”
“To the bastion, of course. Can’t you see that?”
“What shall we do there?”
“You know quite well we are going to breakfast there.”
“And why did we not breakfast at the Sign of the Heretic?”
“Because we have some very important matters to discuss. It was impossible to hear oneself talk in that tavern, what with all those bores coming and going, bowing, scraping and mulling about. There, at least,” Athos pointed to the bastion, “no one can disturb us.”
“But Athos,” D’Artagnan remarked with that prudence which allied itself so naturally with excessive bravery, “it seems to me we could have found some quiet place in the dunes by the seashore.”
“No good, D’Artagnan. The four of us would have been seen conferring together and within a quarter of an hour, the Cardinal would have learned from his spies that we were holding a council.”
“Athos is right,” Aramis announced, “Animadvertuntur in deserto, they are seen in the wilderness.”
“A wilderness wouldn’t have been bad at all,” said Porthos, “the point was to find one!”
“There is no desert where a bird cannot fly overhead or a fish jump out of the water or a rabbit dart out of his burrow, and I firmly believe that bird, fish and rabbit are spying for the Cardinal. We had therefore best continue our venture especially since we cannot retreat without dishonor. We have made a wager in circumstances that could not be foreseen and for reasons which I challenge anyone to explain. In order to win this wager, we are about to occupy the bastion for an hour. Either we shall be attacked or we shall not. If we are not, we shall have plenty of time to talk without anyone overhearing us, for the walls of that bastion have no ears, I warrant you. If we are attacked, we shall discuss our business just the same. Moreover, in defending ourselves we shall cover ourselves with glory. Thus, as you see, everything is to our advantage.”
“Yes, yes,” said D’Artagnan, “and we shall undoubtedly serve as targets for some pretty marksmanship!”
“Alas, my friend,” Athos replied, “you know quite well that the firing we have most to fear will not come from the enemy.”
“But on such an expedition surely we should have brought our muskets along?”
“Don’t be so foolish, friend Porthos. Why load ourselves with a useless burden?�
�
“I do not consider a good musket, twelve cartridges, and a powder flask very useless when you are facing the enemy.”
“But, Porthos, surely you recall what D’Artagnan told us?” Athos asked.
“What did he say?”
“D’Artagnan told us that in last night’s attack, eight or ten Frenchmen and about as many men from La Rochelle were killed.”
“What then?”
“The bodies were not plundered, were they? Apparently the victors had something more urgent to do.”
“Well?”
“Well, we shall collect their muskets, powder flasks and cartridges. Instead of four musketoons and twelve bullets, we shall have fifteen matchlocks and about a hundred charges to fire.”
“Oh, Athos! Truly you are a great man,” said Aramis admiringly; Porthos nodded in agreement; D’Artagnan alone did not seem convinced.
Grimaud evidently shared the young man’s misgivings, for as the party continued walking toward the bastion—a possibility he had until then doubted—he tugged at his master’s coat and, by gestures more effective than words could be, inquired whither they were bound. Athos pointed to the bastion. Grimaud, in the same mute idiom, remonstrated that they would all be killed there.
Athos raised an index finger and both eyes toward the firmament. Grimaud put his basket on the ground, sat down on it and shook his head disparagingly Whereupon Athos took a pistol from his belt, made sure it was properly primed, cocked it, and pressed the muzzle persuasively close to Grimaud’s ear. Reacting like some mechanism released automatically, Grimaud leaped to his feet; Athos motioned him to pick up his basket and to lead the way. Grimaud obeyed; all that he had gained by this brief pantomime was to be promoted from the rear of the procession to the vanguard.
Reaching the bastion, the four friends turned round. More than three hundred soldiers of all kinds were clustered around the camp gate; a small, separate group, formed by Monsieur de Busigny, the dragoon, the Switzer and the fourth bettor stood out clearly to one side.
Removing his hat, Athos placed it on the end of his sword and waved it in the air. As one, all the spectators returned his salute, accompanying this courtesy with loud cheers of encouragement.
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