Just as D’Artagnan swallowed the last bite of cheese, the butler arrived to take him to the cardinal. He quickly finished the drink, and with a nod of thanks to the kitchen maid, he left.
“Ah, D’Artagnan, how was your journey?” the cardinal said as D’Artagnan knelt to kiss his ring. “But more importantly, how fares the cardinal?” Cardinal Tremblay asked, indicating a chair at the table. “I’m afraid that the only Musketeer I could find on such short notice was Athos. He should be here shortly.” Tremblay poured two cups of tea as D’Artagnan sat.
“Your Eminence, the journey was tiring, but no matter. I found Cardinal Richelieu alive, but very weak and unable to travel yet. He insists he will be well enough to travel before long, and reiterates the necessity of doing so. I have set the plan in motion.”
“Good, good. Let us pray that when you return there he will be stronger and able to travel.”
There was a rap at the door, which opened to admit Athos.
“D’Artagnan! How do you fare? It has been awhile since we have met,” the young musketeer cried. He was shorter than D’Artagnan by some two inches, and slim, with dark hair and beard. He wore a costume similar to D’Artagnan’s. After the two embraced, D’Artagnan indicated Cardinal Tremblay.
“Athos, have you met His Eminence, Cardinal Tremblay?”
Athos turned and knelt to the cardinal, kissing his ring. “Eminence, please accept my sincere apology for greeting my friend first.”
“I understand, but please seat yourself. We have much to discuss.” The cardinal poured another cup of tea and put it in front of Athos.
“Your message gave no information on the reason for your summons.” Athos sat and took a sip of the tea, smiling appreciatively.
“The reason is this in a nutshell: Cardinal Richelieu left a few days ago to visit the queen after receiving notice that she was about to give birth. Yes, I know this was early. He informed the king, who insisted on going along disguised as one of his guards. Somewhere along the way they were attacked. All the guards but one were killed. Cardinal Richelieu was injured. His servant and one uninjured guard escaped with him to a monastery.”
“Were you the uninjured guard?” Athos turned toward D’Artagnan.
“I was not with them,” was the reply.
“Thank God for that, my friend,” Athos said. “But what of the king? Was he the uninjured guard?”
“No. I’m afraid that the His Majesty was killed, as well.”
Athos gasped. “What terrible news. We must search for the villains!” He began to stand.
“An admirable thought,” Cardinal Tremblay said, waving Athos back to his seat. “But misguided. We do know who the villains are, but they are inaccessible, for now. There is a more pressing task at the moment.” Cardinal Tremblay looked at Athos, then at D’Artagnan. “Back to the business at hand.”
“But why have you summoned me?” Athos asked, looking at the cardinal. “Are you asking me to assist with this task?”
“I am,” the cardinal replied.
“I will give whatever assistance I can; I am at your service, Your Eminence” Athos assured the two men.
“The task,” Cardinal Tremblay said, “is to remove the cardinal from the monastery where he is being cared for and take him to a safer place to recover from his wounds. I also ask that you use another name on the journey.”
Athos thought a moment, not wanting to refuse a cardinal or a friend, but reluctant to agree to protecting a man for whom he had no fondness. Finally, he realized that it was something he had to do. “A false name?”
“Yes. Gerard Le Roi would be a good name to use.”
D’Artagnan took up the story. “Sir, I spotted a monk at Clairefontaine who looks very much like the cardinal. In the remote chance that the cardinal, er, dies before the journey begins, I could ask the abbot if this monk could go in his place.”
Cardinal Tremblay thought a moment. “Very good. Let us pray it will not be necessary. If it is not, perhaps you should call the cardinal by this monk’s name.”
“His name is Brother Etienne. We will use that name when needed,” D’Artagnan assured him.
Cardinal Tremblay paused a moment before continuing. “I would like you to leave at once for the monastery, and then to leave as soon as possible with the cardinal. I know of a place which should be safe, but it’s some weeks’ ride from here, at least, and I know the cardinal is weak. I have an itinerary that could help you find your destination. The two of you must return to him and prepare him for the journey. If you leave now, you should arrive by late evening. Sleep when you arrive; your journey will be long and possibly fraught with danger. You must be at your best.”
“Your Eminence, I have an uncomfortable question.” At the cardinal’s nod, D’Artagnan continued. “What should we do if, God forbid, the cardinal should die during the journey? And what if it should happen when other people are around, such as at an inn.”
The cardinal thought a moment. “If such a thing should happen, this is what I think should be done. If it is at an inn, since you all are traveling incognito and, if asked, your story is that you are taking him to his family’s home in the west, you will transport his body out of the town. When you are well away from there, or if he should die in an uninhabited area, bury him in the woods, taking care to remember where.”
D’Artagnan took a deep breath. “I understand, but regret, the need to do so. Is the grave to be marked so that others can find it to bury him properly?”
“That is correct. Then go on your way, and at every town and city spread the rumor that he has been seen in a different one.”
He handed D’Artagnan a letter and a package. “This is another letter for the abbot, and this package contains funds for the trip. It should be sufficient, but be careful with it. There won’t be more.” Another pause.
“Of course, Eminence. You said you have an itinerary?”
“Yes.” He handed D’Artagnan a sealed document. “It is the most direct route, but I know that sometimes the most direct is not the best. You will be the best judge. I have included a list of several safe people, who will be sympathetic to our cause. Use them if you need to. I have provisions ready for you, packed on a horse you may take. Yes, I know that the Abbot said he would give you a horse, but his is not a wealthy abbey, as, I’m sure, he already told you. Now he may keep his horse and give you just the cart. I know it’s early, but time is of the essence. Be sure to be at your first stop within two days. Now go.”
Athos and D’Artagnan were dismissed.
“I can’t believe what I have learned tonight,” Athos said as they left Cardinal Tremblay’s residence after being given the extra horse and provisions. “The king, dead; Cardinal Richelieu gravely injured. What will happen to our beloved France now?”
“This is something we must not talk about when near others. No one must know but those of us who already know.” They talked in low voices as they walked their horses through the streets.
“But what about Porthos and Aramis? Are they to be left out?”
“Cardinal Tremblay failed to find them. Are they away on their own business?” D’Artagnan asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“They may still show up and get the message from the cardinal. Perhaps they will join us after all. The future may be unknowable, but we must do our best to guess correctly.”
They mounted their horses and rode quickly toward Clairefontaine and the monastery.
Chapter Four
“E
minence, a message for you,” Cardinal Tremblay’s secretary, Pascal, said.
“A message? Do you know who brought it?” the cardinal asked him.
“No, sir. The housemaid received it. She didn’t recognize the messenger,” he replied as he handed the sealed missive over. “And, as you can see, the stamp is blank.”
“Hm. I have been hoping for a return message. I wonder if this is it.” He picked up his letter knife and slit it open. “Thank
you, Pascal.”
He unfolded it and read, then got out a sheet of his own blank stationary and began to write. Finishing, he folded and sealed it with his own blank stamp he kept for anonymous correspondence. On the front he penned two names.
“Pascal, please have this sent to one or both of these two men at the King’s Musketeers’ barracks. I think there won’t be a reply.”
∞ ∞ ∞
Since it was late when he arrived, it was morning bells that woke Monsieur Boyea. The monastery was busy with the monks going to morning prayers. He quickly rose and pulled his boots on. He then joined them, moving smoothly from the chapter house to the chapel. During the prayers, instead of bowing his head, he looked around surreptitiously. He was looking for a particular face, one he was familiar with by having seen the person during his stay in Paris.
“There! That looks much like him,” he thought. “But younger. It could be, though. I must keep an eye on him.”
After the morning service, he followed the others to the dining hall. It was a meager breakfast of thin porridge and bread, but it was filling. He hadn’t had much time to eat as he searched the countryside to find the famed cardinal for his master. As he ate, he looked around for the man he had seen that looked like Richelieu. The man wasn’t in the dining hall, but a plump young monk sat down beside him and began to talk to him.
“What a lovely day our Lord has given us, monsieur. I am Brother Xavier, new to this monastery. I understand that you are just stopping on your way to Paris. I’ve never been to Paris. I hear it has very grand cathedrals, and, of course, Their Majesties live there.” He finally paused to take a mouthful.
“Good morning, Brother Xavier,” he said. “My name is Luc, and, yes, I am on my way to Paris.” He lowered his voice. “I understand I am not the only visitor here. I thought I overheard someone say that a man came here, and that he may be Cardinal Richelieu. Now that would be a man of God to talk to. He must be a great teacher, as well.”
“Yes, I think I heard that, also. I don’t remember where. How I would like to learn from him,” Brother Xavier said.
“But if he’s here, why could you not talk to him?”
“I also heard a rumor that he is gravely injured, and was to leave soon for somewhere else,” the young monk said. “I fear I won’t have the opportunity.”
Boyea thought quickly. “But if you were to go along with him, you would have vast opportunity. With his tutoring, perhaps you could be a cardinal someday.”
The monk’s eyes grew large. “Yes. I perhaps could, couldn’t I?” he replied. “But how would I manage to get permission? I haven’t been here but only a few days.”
“Maybe if you were to talk to the abbot. If he knew how much you want to learn from the great cardinal, maybe he would let you go? Perhaps you could help care for him on the way.”
“I could. I have had some medical training. I will go to the abbot and make my request. He’ll probably say no, but I will have tried. Thank you, Monsieur Luc. Thank you.”
“If you are allowed to go, I would very much like to hear what you learn from the cardinal. Would it be possible for you to send letters to me in Paris, telling me what he has taught you? I can give you my sister’s address.”
“I suppose I could do that. If I am allowed to go, of course. And if I have the means to write and post letters.”
Boyea searched amongst his clothing for a bit of paper and writing implement, which he knew he didn’t have. “I’m afraid I have nothing to write the address on. Could you, perhaps, find a scrap to write it on? Then find me and I will tell you the address.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Monsieur Luc.”
“Thank you, Brother Xavier. It is my dream to become a priest, but I fear I will never be able to realize it. But learning anything from such a great man of God would be a blessing to me,” Boyea told him.
With that, Brother Xavier took his plate and bowl to the kitchen, then headed toward the abbot’s office.
Monsieur Boyea followed the monks to their next prayer services, looking for the man he thought might be Richelieu, again. He caught glimpses of him, but never got close enough to confirm his identity. The monk did look a little too healthy to have been wounded, though. Regardless, Boyea decided to wait until night and search the building.
After the monks’ noon repast, during an afternoon prayer service, Boyea left the monastery and walked to the village. He had stabled his horse there, with his belongings stored with it.
“Good afternoon, monsieur,” he said to the stable master. “I need to send a message. Could you tell me if there is anyone who could take my letter to its recipient?”
“Of course, Monsieur Boyea. My son works as a messenger when needed. Do you have paper and ink, or do you need it provided?”
“Excellent. I have what I need in a saddlebag, if you will bring it to me. The letter will not take long to write, but I need it delivered as soon as possible, and will pay extra for it.”
“Very well. I will get your saddlebag for you. Will you be staying another night?”
“No, I will be leaving now. If you could have my horse saddled, as well?”
“Certainly, monsieur. I will be only a moment.” The stable master went to the stall the horse was kept in and returned with the saddlebag. By the time the letter was addressed and sealed, the horse was ready.
“Thank you, monsieur. Here is your fee, and some extra for your son.”
“Merci, Monsieur.”
Monsieur Boyea mounted his horse and rode toward the monastery, veering off the road when he was out of sight of the village. He went back to the spot where he had slept before. It was next to a sunny patch of soft grass where his horse could graze as-well-as drink until he returned. He tied the end of the reins to a tree close to both the creek and the patch of grass, and returned to the monastery.
Evening finally came, and with it another prayer service. Boyea tried to get near to the monk who looked like the cardinal, but as hard as he tried, he could not manage to squeeze between the other monks in the way. He could see the monk across the room, and studied him closely, trying to determine if the man was who he sought.
Afterwards came dinner, which was much like the midday meal, but with wine or ale. He couldn’t spot the tall monk in the room, but Brother Xavier sat next to him again.
“Monsieur Boyea, I talked to the abbot and got permission to go on the journey with the ‘patient,’ as he is called. I will endeavor to send messages back to you of the lessons I will be learning. I have a bit of paper and a quill, if you will tell me the address,” the young monk told him, excitedly. “I don’t know when he will be leaving, though. He is still ill and it may be several days before he is well enough for the trip. I must ask for more paper and ink in order to take notes of what I am taught.”
Brother Xavier rose and quickly walked away.
Later, when the two encountered each other again, Boyea gave the Count’s address to the monk, who wrote it on the scrap of paper. Then he went back to his room and lay down again. It was a long wait for the monastery to become silent, but he was able to stay awake until then.
When he was sure everyone had gone to bed, he rose and, leaving his boots in the room and lighting the candle on the table, began his search.
There were several other doors along the hallway where his room was located. He assumed they were also rooms for visitors. Silently, he went to the nearest door and opened it a bit. Peeking in, he could see it was empty. Then he went to the next and repeated what he had done. Empty again. And the next.
Through the fourth door, which he was able to open only a little way, he saw someone sitting in the chair. The man looked up and said, “Monsieur? This room is occupied. May I help you with something?” he whispered.
“Apologies, Brother. I have been to the privy and didn’t remember which room is mine.” Then he closed the door and walked on.
The monk in the room peeked out, but the man was already out of sight,
so he closed the door, checked on his patient, and sat back down. It occurred to him that he hadn’t heard footsteps in the corridor, but decided that his mind must have been wandering.
Monsieur Boyea kept looking in rooms. He began to open another door when he heard someone walking toward him in the corridor.
“May I help you find something?” a monk asked him.
“I was just looking for the privy,” he answered.
“Well, it’s not inside, so you needn’t look in here,” the monk replied. “I am going there, myself. Come with me and I’ll show you, myself.”
Boyea followed the monk outside and to the rear of the building.
“I don’t recognize you. Are you a visitor to our church?” the monk said.
“I’m just here for one night; then I’ll be on my way.”
“Are you just traveling through?”
“Uh, yes. I am going to Paris and was robbed of everything a couple of days ago,” he said. Better, he thought, to continue the story I already told than to make something else up. “I’ll be leaving in the morning.”
“Ah, here we are,” the monk said as they arrived at the small building. “Please, you go first.”
“Thank you,” Boyea said, and entered.
As he exited, the monk said, “I will look for you in the morning at breakfast.”
Boyea returned to his room until he heard the monk enter the building and go back to his room. Then he continued to search.
Most of the rooms were occupied by monks asleep in bed. Then he entered a room without a bed. There was a table, though, and the table had what looked like a garment laying on it. He inspected it carefully by the light of the lamp. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but it looked as though it might be red. There were rents in the fabric and what might have been blood staining it. Could that be the robe that the cardinal had been wearing when his party was attacked? He searched through the robe for pockets, which were empty, the ones he could find. Ah well; the chance of finding anything else that belonged to the cardinal was slight, at best. He folded the robe into a small bundle and laid the biretta, which he found under the robe, on top. He took off his vest and wrapped it around the bundle. Then he carefully and silently returned to his room. He snuffed out the candle, put his boots back on and crawled through the small window, just barely fitting through.
The Hunt for The Red Cardinal Page 8
