He had no map, so he wasn’t quite sure where his destination on the west side of Paris was. He rode to the edge of the city and turned slightly south on a road that seemed likely. The road happened to be the road the cardinal’s party had taken just hours before. He was far enough behind the cardinal's party that he did not catch up to them but followed from a distance. When he arrived at the scene where the attack had taken place, somewhat past midnight, he was stunned. There were bodies lying everywhere, most of them dead. He could tell they were the Red Cardinal’s men by their uniforms.
He searched for anyone who might still be alive and found a man who seemed near death but was still conscious.
“You,” he said to the man. “Were you with the cardinal? Who attacked you? Where were you going?”
The man breathed heavily and pointed, as if to say, that way. Boyea checked to see if anyone else was still living. The only face he recognized was the face of the king, who was certainly dead. He saw no one who looked like Cardinal Richelieu.
There was no road leading the way indicated, but Boyea went anyway, leaving the man to complete his death.
After riding over land for some way, he found himself at a small village. It was some time until dawn, so he decided to find a place in the nearby woods to rest until it was late enough to inquire at the village inn for information.
While looking for a likely place to camp, he passed a church with another large building behind it.
A monastery? he thought. I could request shelter there later. Then he thought, I have nowhere to leave the horse and my belongings. I’ll tell the brothers that I’ve been robbed and have nothing. I can take the horse to the stable in the village in the morning and request shelter for tomorrow night from the monks.
He rode on and found a grassy patch next to a river with a gentle bank. He tied the horse to a tree limb, settled on the ground with his back to the tree, and dozed until the morning sun woke him.
∞ ∞ ∞
D’Artagnan arrived at his destination, the church at Clairefontaine, the next afternoon after a hard ride. He had left Paris immediately after speaking with Cardinal Tremblay and had ridden all night, only stopping briefly to rest, feed, and water the horse. The trip had been long and not as smooth as he would have liked. The way was hilly and rocky, and the ground was muddy in places, as it had rained the day before. There was always the possibility of his horse tripping and falling.
The church compound was a short way outside the village and was comprised of the church itself, the chapter house, and a few outbuildings. Entering and looking through the foyer, he saw monks at prayer. He stood in the doorway to the sanctuary and waited for one of them to conclude his prayers. He examined the interior of the country church, finding it plain compared to the cathedrals of Paris, but it was beautiful, never-the-less. There were several paintings of the Madonna and other historical scenes, statues, and stained-glass windows. The altar had been supurbly painted and was a sight to behold, with a stark crucifix above it. The monks sat on benches that reached from one side to the other. At that time of day, the benches had only the monks and a few of the townspeople on them. On regular days and times of worship, they were filled with pious adults trying to control active children and crying infants.
Presently one of the monks rose and noticed the visitor.
“Good day, monsieur. I am Brother Paulo. Have you come to worship or make your confession?” the monk asked D’Artagnan.
“In other circumstances, it would be my desire. But I am on official business for the Church and must speak to your abbot.”
“Then please follow me to our chapter house. Our abbot will see you.” The monk led him along a covered walkway to an adjacent building, which housed a monastery small enough that everyone knew everyone else.
When they entered, the monk called to another, “Brother Julius, is Abbe’ Michel available to see this traveler. He says he’s here on church business.”
D’Artagnan saw another monk pass by and stared at him for a moment. He looked very like Cardinal Richelieu, although he seemed younger and more robust. The Cardinal had been gaunt as long as D’Artagnan had known him. If, God forbid, the cardinal should not survive, this man could very well take his place on the journey.
“Abbe’ Michel has just entered his office.” Brother Julius said, looking at D’Artagnan. “Please follow me.”
Brother Julius led him along a hallway with several doors on each side, then knocked on one of them. After being bidden to enter, the monk opened the door and motioned D’Artagnan through it.
D’Artagnan bowed to the abbot, a thin, middle-aged man with a well-manicured tonsure, and said “Abbe’, forgive me for coming unannounced. My name is Charles D’Artagnan of Cardinal Richeliou’s guard. I come at the behest of Cardinal Tremblay. Here is a letter he bade me present to you. I believe it will explain the reason for my presence.” He handed the letter to the abbot, who opened and read it immediately.
“I see,” the abbot said, folding it and sliding it into a drawer in his desk. Then he rose and walked around it. “But I’m afraid he is not up to seeing visitors right now.”
“But he is still alive? What is his condition?”
“He is very weak. It is hard to tell if he will live or not. One of the monks is with him, praying for his recovery, but only God knows what will happen.”
“I know he is probably asleep, but may I, at least, look in at him? I promise I will not try to wake him; I just want to reassure myself that he still lives.”
“Of course,” the abbot replied, and led him to a remote room in a mostly-unused wing of the chapterhouse where the cardinal had been taken.
When they entered, the cardinal was asleep, another monk keeping watch over him. The abbot motioned the monk to leave the room, then closed the door behind himself as he followed.
D’Artagnan stood, looking at his master, assessing his condition. Presently Richelieu opened his eyes and saw his visitor standing there.
He said in a soft, breathy voice, slowly, “My dear D’Artagnan, have you come to see me?”
D’Artagnan bowed and knelt by the bed to kiss the ring, but the ring wasn’t on his finger. “Eminence, I have come to see you, but has your ring been stolen or lost?”
“I gave it to Servien to take with him.”
“Cardinal Tremblay sent me to see you. He told me of the recent events. I grieve for his Majesty and my brother guards, and am grateful that you still live.”
“I, as well,” the cardinal replied. He made an effort to say more, but could not, and seemed to go back to sleep. However, after only a moment he roused and said, “I must leave this place. I am a danger to it.”
D’Artagnan had to lean close to hear what the cardinal said, but understood perfectly what he meant. Seeing his master like that seemed impossible to D’Artagnan. Cardinal Richelieu had always been commanding, intelligent and sometimes abrupt and unpleasant, but always strong. D’Artagnan had been a faithful and loyal guard since he had joined the guard and would remain so until he had successfully delivered the cardinal to wherever he was going.
The abbot opened the door and motioned for D’Artagnan to leave the room as the monk guarding the cardinal returned. “We have a guest room you may rest in. I know you must have ridden all night from Paris to get here. Attend Vespers and eat our evening meal with us and then sleep.”
“Thank you, Abbe’, but I have plans to make. His Eminence must be moved to a safer place as soon as he is able to travel,” D’Artagnan said.
“Yes, but right now he is too ill. However, you are correct that he must go. His presence also potentially places this monastery in danger. But Vespers will begin soon. Then we will eat. We all think better with food and rest.”
“Yes, Abbe’. Oh, if you speak of me to anyone else, Cardinal Tremblay has suggested that I use the nom de plume of Allais Dubois.”
“To keep your true identity a secret?” the abbot said. “I will use that name for you in
the future.”
D’Artagnan did as told, joining the others at Vespers and the evening meal. Then he went to the guest room and slept through the night, awaking at the call to Vigils. It was later than he had planned to wake, so he quickly rose, dressed and joined the monks on their way to the chapel. Sine he hadn’t attended any of the rituals in a very long time, he felt the need for the peace he thought he needed, if only for a short time. While the other monks were praying the prescribed prayers, he prayed fervently for the cardinal’s recovery. Afterward, he kept his thoughts to himself as he ate.
D’Artagnan looked in on the cardinal, who was asleep, and he decided not to disturb him. Instead, he went to look for the Abbot.
“Abbe’, I know that the cardinal is not able to travel yet, but I believe, and I think Cardinal Tremblay would agree, that we must make the arrangements now,” D’Artagnan said.
“I agree. What will you need? We are a poor monastery, not materially wealthy as some are, but wealthy in spirit,” the abbot said, “but we can provide food and drink and, I would think, a horse and small cart for him to ride in.”
“That is much appreciated, but Cardinal Tremblay has already provided a horse and is financing the journey. I do have need of the cart, though. I have friends who should be able to go along to assure safety. But I need to ask you another question. How many of the brothers here know the identity of your patient?”
“Well, when he was brought in to us it was very late and not many of us were awake. There was some disturbance, of course. The Night Watcher let them in and roused me. Two or three other brothers were awake and helped carry him to the table where he was examined by our resident healer, Brother André. Our ‘patient’ was badly wounded and needed immediate care, so those present did what needed to be done. Some of them went to the chapel to pray. But the rest of the residents were left sleeping and were not told of his identity.”
“So only those five or six of you that were present know who he is? Are you sure of their loyalty?” D’Artagnan asked.
“Their loyalty?” the abbot replied. “Of course they are loyal. They are men of God.”
“I mean their loyalty to the Crown. Were you told of what happened to cause the Cardinal’s injuries, and what happened to the others in his party?”
“We were told that there had been an attack and that everyone, except the three that came here, were killed,” the abbot said.
“Do you know any details of that attack?”
“No, just what I told you. Can you say what the details are? Who was killed? What can you tell me?”
D’Artagnan thought for a moment, and made a decision. “The news will come out, and probably soon. It might be best if you, yourself, know what happened, but please, no one else must know until it is made public to everyone.” He took a breath. Cardinal Tremblay hadn’t authorized him to reveal the details, even to the abbot, but he continued anyway. “The party was going to visit the Queen in her confinement. The cardinal had received news that the birth would be soon. He advised the King that he was going, and His Majesty insisted on going along, disguised as one of the guards. The instigators of the attack had gotten word somehow of what was going on and staged the attack, killing the king along with all the guards except the one that guided the cardinal and his secretary to you.”
The abbot gasped, “But how could someone know. Did the cardinal tell anyone in the court? Anyone who had reason to want the king dead? Or the cardinal, even? How did they know where to go?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know. I do know that Monsieur Gaston, when he receives the news, is certain to claim the crown for himself. That is where the danger to this abbey lies. Gaston and his brother, César Vendôme, hate Cardinal Richelieu. If the attack was orchestrated by them, then the cardinal was probably their target. That the king was also killed would be a welcome bonus to them. That is why the cardinal must be moved as soon as possible.”
“Of course. I will see that your provisions are ready when you need them.”
“Thank you, but, as I said, Cardinal Tremblay has provided what we will need. I must go back to Paris to collect my friends, the horse and instructions on where we are to go.”
“Go with God, my son. Be safe. I think the future of France may lie with you.”
Chapter Three
Atall, young, beardless man, dressed in the clothing of a country peasant, approached the door to the country church and knocked. It was late, he was tired and hungry and on foot. When the door opened, he said, “Can you help a poor man with lodgings for the night? And maybe a little food?”
“Of course,” the monk at the door said. “Please come in. All are welcome in God’s house. I don’t recognize you. Are you from the village?”
“No. I’m traveling to Paris to stay with my sister and her husband. I was riding with only my meager belongings until I was beset by robbers. They took my horse and all I had. I barely got away. I was fortunate they didn’t take my clothing, as well. But, with a little help, I’ll be able to get to Paris, where I can work for my sister’s husband.”
“You poor man. Please come eat with us. What is your name?” the monk asked “I am Brother Jacques.”
“My name is Luc. Luc Boyea.” He had decided that it was easier to use his own name than have to remember a different one. No one there would have heard of him; he was only a lowly servant, after all. “I’m traveling from Ablis. I don’t even know exactly where I am, now.” He followed Brother Jacques through the church and into the dining hall of the chapter house. It was a medium-sized room with several rows of long tables and benches. On the far side was a door to another room.
He inhaled the aromas coming from the kitchen appreciatively. They smelled delicious. He hadn’t had anything to eat since he had left Paris the day before, and was very hungry.
“We have rooms for travelers in need. You may stay one night or two before you go on your way. Sit here,” he was told. “Someone will bring you some dinner in a moment.”
The monk walked away toward the door which must have been to the kitchen. Monsieur Boyea could hear the noise of pots and utensils from that direction. He looked around the room; some of the tables and benches were occupied. This was obviously not a silent order; there was much talking and some laughter. They seemed a happy lot, and welcoming. That was good. Monsieur Boyea was on a mission.
Another monk set a plate on the table. “I hope you will enjoy your meal. I am Brother Maurice. It is simple food, but we are simple folks here. We do serve good wine, though.” He filled a glass from a pitcher of wine and handed it to Monsieur Boyea.
After Boyea finished his meal of, he assumed, homegrown vegetables, fresh bread and cheese, both probably made there in the monastery, Brother Jacques returned to guide him to a small room with a narrow bed, a small table and a chair. “I think this should serve you for the brief time you will be with us,” he said.
“Thank you. I am very grateful for your generosity.”
“You are quite welcome,” Brother Jacques said, and walked away.
Monsieur Boyea took off his boots and lay down on the bed, meaning to stay awake, but instead fell asleep.
∞ ∞ ∞
D’Artagnan arrived in Paris just after dark the next day. After sending a message to Cardinal Tremblay that he had returned, he planned to retire for a meal and few hours’ sleep at Charlotte’s townhouse.
Charlotte Blackson was at home when he arrived.
“Charles, where have you been? I was worried sick that you had come to harm.” She rushed at him and embraced him.
“I was sent somewhere by the cardinal. I regret that I had no time to send you a message first,” he told her.
“Naughty boy. I will forgive you, but you must earn my forgiveness first. Come with me.” She headed for the stairs, beckoning him to follow. “This way, Charles.”
“My dear Charlotte, nothing would make me happier than attempting to earn your forgiveness, but duty is not finished with me. I have to
leave again, and have time, most likely, for only a few hours of sleep. This time I may not be back for a very long time,” he told her.
“What? But why? Tell me what you must do.”
“I’m so sorry, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy and may tell no one.”
“No one? Then you must make it up to me now. Then I will let you sleep.”
Resigned and excited, he followed her up the stairs.
He was awakened by a messenger with a note from the cardinal at seven o’clock the next morning
“Please attend me at eight o’clock this morning, as before. Only one of your friends was found. He will be in attendance.”
He dressed and packed his saddlebag, then ate a quick meal and left. Charlotte was still asleep, and he didn’t want to wake her, so he left a note for her.
My dear Charlotte, I have been summoned by the cardinal to go on an important journey. I believe that in time you will understand the circumstances that have caused my absence from you. Pray forgive me for not revealing all to you, as I have been forbidden to speak of this. I will miss you every day that I am gone, and hope to rejoin you without excessive delay. All regards, Charles.
As it was near to eight o’clock, D’Artagnan left immediately for the meeting, taking his horse as he was sure to be leaving for Clairefontaine immediately. It was a lovely morning. The trees had begun to produce leaves and flowers were popping up with buds almost ready to burst. He arrived at his destination a few minutes early, and knocked at the servant’s entrance.
“Good evening, Audrey,” he said to the kitchen maid who opened the door. “His Eminence has summoned me, but I am a little early. Might I enter anyway?”
“But of course, monsieur. Would you like a bite to eat? Breakfast is just over and there is some left.” She smiled at him as she held open the door.
Since he hadn’t eaten before he left, and thought it might be awhile before he could eat again, he said, “That would be welcome, Audrey. Thank you.” He entered into the hallway that led to the kitchen, into which they went. Audrey had him sit at the large kitchen table and brought him a plate of bread and cheese, with a small glass of small beer.
The Hunt for The Red Cardinal Page 7
