The Hunt for The Red Cardinal

by Bradley Sinor

  The window was not far above the ground, so his fall wasn’t far. He lay there a moment, listening for any sound from inside. There was none.

  Getting up, he picked up the bundle he had dropped to the ground and slowly crept toward the place he had tethered his horse.

  “This will make a good prize for his lordship the count,” Monsieur Boyea thought to himself. “Perhaps I will be rewarded. Perhaps when Monsieur Gaston is crowned king of France he will give me some reward, as well. Perhaps instead of taking this back to Paris, I should take it to the Duke?” He had once been to Turin with the count’s household, so, of course, he thought he knew the way.

  He pulled a length of heavy string and a spare shirt from a saddlebag, replacing the vest around the bundle with the shirt and tying it to the back of his saddle. Then he rode toward the southeast, carefully, since it was very dark with only a sliver of moon to light his way.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Two somewhat bedraggled young men knocked at the servants’ entrance to the home of Cardinal Tremblay. One was tall and thin, and the other was a bit shorter and bulkier. They looked as though they had been wearing the same threadbare clothes for days.

  The kitchen maid, Audrey, opened the door and looked at the two beggars who stood there. She had been instructed long before that if beggars came to the door, she should give them a bit of bread and cheese, a drink from the well, and send them on their way.

  “Wait a moment and I will fetch you something,” she told them, and started to shut the door.

  “A moment, please, mademoiselle. We are instructed to ask for Pere’ Joseph,” Porthos replied.

  She looked more closely at him and at his friend, peering at them from their dark and neatly trimmed hair down to their surprisingly well-kept boots, seeing clean faces and passably good teeth, then let them in.

  “Wait here and I will ask about you. Your names?” She then went in search of Pascal, who confirmed Porthos’ story.

  “I guess that’s what we get for looking so disreputable. He did say to dress this way, though, didn’t he?” said Porthos, a muscular, cheerful young man.

  The slim, more ascetic Aramis nodded. “That’s what it looked like to me. Ah, here comes the secretary, I suspect.”

  “Monsieurs, please come this way.” Pascal let them to the room in which their friend, D’Artagnan had met the cardinal two days earlier.

  “Monsieur Aramis? Monsieur Porthos? I thank you for coming,” Cardinal Tremblay said.

  Each nodded when his name was spoken, then they both knelt to kiss the cardinal’s ring. “Your Eminence,” they said together.

  “Please sit,” the cardinal said, indicating the pitcher of wine and glasses on a tray on the table. At their nods, he poured three glasses. “I asked you to come to receive grave news and because your aid has been requested.”

  “Our aid? Who has requested it?” Porthos asked. “But, Eminence, what is the grave news you spoke of?”

  “This is not public knowledge yet, but it will be soon. Recently, Cardinal Richelieu received word that the birth of the heir would be soon. He left for the location of the Queen’s confinement, along with his secretary, a number of his own guards, and His Majesty, disguised as one of the guards. Along the way they were attacked. None survived except for Cardinal Richelieu, his secretary, Servien, and one guard. That guard was not the king.”

  It took the two musketeers a moment to absorb the news that the king of France was dead. “Who are the villains who did this deed?” Aramis asked. “Do you know? We must find them and bring them to justice!”

  “Just like a good Musketeer. Yes, we know. No, I will not tell you. Do not concern yourselves; the culprits will be brought to justice. Your aid is needed elsewhere,” Cardinal Tremblay admonished. “Cardinal Richelieu was injured. His servant and the young guard got him to safety. The young guard was sent to tell me the news, and I sent him on to another location.”

  “Has the cardinal survived, then? Is his servant with him?” asked Aramis.

  “He sent his servant to tell the Queen and then go elsewhere, himself. Two days ago I asked the Cardinal’s Guard, D’Artagnan, to meet with me. I told him what had happened and bade him go to see how the cardinal fared. He asked if I would inform you two and your friend, Athos, of these events. I told D’Artagnan to return with news of the cardinal. When he returned, Athos joined us and promised to go with D’Artagnan to remove the cardinal from the monastery to a safer place. They have the use of a cart for the cardinal to ride in. Now that you two have reappeared and come to see me, I would like to ask you to join them on their journey.”

  “Thank the good Lord that D’Artagnan is safe,” Aramis exclaimed. “But, as you may know, the cardinal has not always, er, approved of the musketeers. There has been some animosity between his guards and our company. We will, of course, do as you ask, especially because our friend, D’Artagnan, has requested our help. But where are we to go? Are we going as musketeers to guard the cardinal? Do you think the cardinal will be well enough to travel?”

  “So many questions, and I can answer only one. You will go as itinerant mercenaries, the same as D’Artagnan and Athos. You will follow the itinerary I provided as best you can. I don’t expect that you will make good time; a cart is a slow vehicle, especially with an injured man riding in it, so take as much time as you need. But be wary. Many people may be after the cardinal, looking everywhere in France.

  “But…”

  “Enough questions. I know very little more than you do. This is the place you will go first, to wait for the others to arrive if they haven’t already. If they have arrived but left, try to catch up to them.” Cardinal Tremblay handed Aramis a sealed document. “But first, I have a question: do many people outside of Paris know who you are? Yes, I’ve heard about the up-time novel that makes the four of you famous, to ‘up-timers’, as they call themselves. But I doubt that very many down-timers, such as we, especially in the countryside, have read it.” Cardinal Tremblay looked at each of them expectantly.”

  “Uh, no. I don’t think so.” Porthos looked at Aramis questioningly.

  “I think not, as well,” Aramis said. “We have done no more than the other musketeers. I think the up-timers say, ‘we have kept our heads down.’ Are you asking if we should use other names?”

  “I am. Perhaps it would be safer if you did. Perhaps you should call yourselves – Emile Gillette and Georges Moreau.”

  “I think you look more like an Emile,” Porthos said, looking at Aramis.

  “Oh? Do you think you look like a Georges?” he replied.

  “Do you think you look more like a Georges than I?”

  “Gentlemen! I really don’t think it makes any difference who uses which name. You can decide on your way.” Cardinal Tremblay handed over a small drawstring bag, shaking it slightly so that it jingled. “Here are funds for your trip. I have given D’Artagnan the bulk of the funding, so this should be sufficient for you until you join the rest. And here is a map to your first stop.”

  The pair rose and bowed. “Your Eminence, we shall do our best to protect the cardinal on his journey. Thank you for your trust in us,” Porthos said formally.

  “It is D’Artagnan who trusts you. See that you are worthy of it.”

  Aramis and Porthos bowed again and took their leave.

  They paused in the kitchen garden. “It is very late now. Do you think we should wait until tomorrow to start our quest?” Aramis asked Porthos.

  “Quest? Is this the twelfth century now? But yes, I think a good night’s sleep and a good meal would be preferable to riding the rest of the night on an empty stomach. But we must be up and ready to leave at daybreak.”

  “Agreed.”

  Chapter Five

  D’

  Artagnan and Athos arrived at the monastery at Clairefontaine late that night. After waking the stable master to tend to their horses, they entered the chapterhouse.

  The night watcher let them in, recognizing D
’Artagnan.

  “I’m sure the abbot is asleep,” D’Artagnan said to the monk.

  “I believe he may still be awake,” the monk replied. “He often stays up late to pray. Come with me.”

  “Thank you, Brother, Julius, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, monsieur,” the monk said and led them into the sanctuary. He stood beside the kneeling abbot until he was noticed, then indicated the two visitors.

  “Ah, Monsieur D’Artagnan. You have brought one of your friends with you.”

  “Yes, Abbe’. This is Athos, one of the friends I mentioned to you. He will be using the name Gerard Le Roi. How is the patient?”

  Athos bowed to the abbot. “Abbe’.”

  “Much the same, I’m afraid. But I know you must be on your way. I have a horse and cart ready for you.”

  “Thank you, but Cardinal Tremblay provided us with an extra horse, so we won’t need to deprive the monastery of one. We will need the cart, though.”

  The Abbot rose and beckoned them to follow him. “The cart is in the stable, with as many blankets as we could spare to keep the patient warm. But it is much too late to leave now. You must sleep before you leave. Would you like to see the patient now?”

  They arrived at the cardinal’s room after only a moment’s walk. The abbot knocked lightly and opened the door.

  The cardinal woke at their entrance and smiled at D’Artagnan. In the same slow and breathy voice, he said, “I see you are back. And who is this fellow you have with you? I don’t recognize him.”

  “This is my friend and, now, former king's Musketeer, Athos. He will be going with us.”

  The cardinal nodded once and went back to sleep.

  The abbot said. “I suggest you leave during the morning prayers. It will still be dark at that time, so you won’t be seen.”

  D’Artagnan and Athos stepped away to discuss the offer. After deciding that an early morning departure might be better than leaving immediately, even though they would get little sleep, they turned back to the abbot.

  “Thank you, Abbe’. Early morning would be a good time,” D’Artagnan told him. “We will arise with everyone else and, once the rest have gone to the chapel, we will slip out.”

  They left the cardinal to continue sleeping and went to find rooms for themselves. As the night progressed, the cardinal grew weaker, and the monk guarding him sent for the monk who had treated the cardinal when he had first been brought to the monastery.

  “He is still breathing, but it is slow,” the monk said to D’Artagnan and the abbot, who had also been sent for.

  By that time the cardinal was asleep. His breath was still slow and somewhat labored, but his heartbeat had become stronger and he looked as though he was not in pain.

  “Should we wait longer to leave?” D’Artagnan asked the abbot, who looked at the monk first, then said, “No, I think you should leave at the time we agreed on.”

  The monk spoke up. “He should be all right as long as you keep to the smoother roads and he isn’t jostled too much. You must drive slowly, as well.”

  The abbot went on. “I know you want to get as far away from here as soon as you can, but his life is at stake. Perhaps a different direction at first?”

  “Yes, that is the plan,” D’Artagnan told him.

  “I will come to assist you when you’re leaving. You will need help carrying him to the cart,” said the monk—a large, strong-looking man--who had guarded the cardinal.

  “We thank you for your help, and I’m sure that – our patient – would say the same,” said D’Artagnan. “Please pray for our journey, that we get him to our destination safely.”

  “Of course, my son. God will be with you.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  It was just past dawn and chilly but dry when the group set out from the monastery at Clairefontaine. The cardinal had been dressed in a clean but simple monk’s habit and was asleep, huddled under blankets in the cart, with the young monk, Brother Xavier, driving. The remaining space in the cart, such as it was, was filled with their supplies.

  “It’s good we got an early start,” D’Artagnan said to Athos when they were about half a mile from the monastery.

  “And that we got a good breakfast. How far are we to go today?” Athos asked. D’Artagnan pulled the letter from Cardinal Tremblay from inside his vest. “Rambouillet. I think it’s about five miles from here. Fortunately, I have a fairly accurate map.”

  “Is there an inn there, or do we have to camp under the trees?”

  “An inn. I believe it’s called The Surly Pig.”

  “Sounds charming. At least we can sleep inside. It would be much too cold, especially for the cardinal, to have to sleep outside.” Athos looked back at the cart a few yards behind them. “I’m still not sure about bringing Brother Xavier along with us.”

  “Well, he seemed to really want to come. Said something about a pilgrimage. But he doesn’t know where we’re going. Besides, he’s helping by driving the cart. And he seems to know how to take care of our patient.”

  Late the previous evening, after D’Artagnan and Athos had gone to bed, the young monk had gone to the abbot, begging to be allowed to travel with the ‘pilgrims’ that were leaving the next morning. Brother Xavier had been questioned by the abbot and explained, “I saw the man who will be leaving here. He seems wounded. I have had training in medical care. I can care for Cardinal Richelieu.”

  “Why do you think he is the cardinal?” the abbot asked him. “His name is Brother Etienne.”

  “Because I saw the good cardinal in Paris once. This man looks exactly like him. Abbe’, please let me go. I so desire to learn from such a great man of God as His Eminence.”

  The abbot sighed. “He is Brother Etienne.”

  “Please.”

  I will have to talk with his guard, Allais.”

  The abbot sent for D‘Artagnan. “Brother Xavier is quite intent on going with you. I know that might cause a problem, but another problem might be caused by refusing him. Or, he could be of help to you.”

  “What problem could be caused by refusing his request?” D’Artagnan asked.

  “His disappointment in being refused might lead him to complain to others, who do not know the true identity of our patient. We want to keep the secret that the cardinal has been cared for here.”

  D’Artagnan agreed. “We will accept his help, but if he causes any problems, we will leave him at the next church or monastery we come to.”

  “That will have to do, then. Thank you,” said the abbot. “One thing more I should tell you about. After the cardinal’s robes were removed, they were laid on a table in one of the smaller rooms. Frankly, we forgot about them for a short time. The day after he was brought to us, a stranger stopped, seeking shelter for the night. We, of course, welcomed him, but kept him away from where the cardinal was. Two days later, the stranger was gone. No one thought much about it until Brother Alfred remembered the robes and went to get them. They were gone. After questioning everyone who might have come across them, it was decided that the stranger must have stolen them. I didn’t send anyone after him since we had no idea which way he might have gone. I will send a letter to Cardinal Tremblay about the incident and pray that they weren’t stolen for a nefarious reason.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” said D’Artagnan. “I can imagine why they were stolen. I think it must be to have proof where Cardinal Richelieu was taken, although it won’t prove that he’s alive, or dead. Or still here.”

  “At least if anyone comes looking for him, he won’t find any proof that the cardinal was here,” the abbot added. “Because there won’t be.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  The small group finally arrived at their first destination, The Surly Pig in Rambouillet, in time for a late supper.

  The village was barely large enough to have an inn. There were no more than five shops and two dozen homes. The church was not imposing like the cathedrals in Paris but was all that was needed for the villager
s.

  “Brother Xavier, would you please drive the cart around back while I secure a room or two for us?” D’Artagnan said. “Remember, he is to be called Brother Etienne. Athos, please go with him and see what the stable is like.”

  D’Artagnan entered the inn. It looked much like any other inn that he had stayed at during previous travels. Since the weather was warming, the fire in the fireplace was banked and the windows were uncovered to let light in. The room wasn’t overlarge, with dark paneled walls and a polished dark wood counter. There were only five long board tables, one of which was occupied by several men. The innkeeper approached him, wiping his hands on a towel.

  “Two rooms, please, if you have them. Or one with two large beds, if not. Do you have any rooms on the ground floor?” D’Artagnan asked the innkeeper.

  “I’m afraid not,” was the man’s response. “I do have one large room upstairs, with two large beds.”

  “That will do nicely. And supper for three.”

  “It will be ready shortly. Would you like to be shown the room first?”

  “Yes, please. One of our company is ill, or rather, injured, so we will take supper in the room.”

  “You are sure he is not ill?” asked the innkeeper, who seemed on the edge of panic.

  At D’Artagnan’s assurance, the innkeeper said, “Very good, sir. Rachael,” he called to a young woman. “Show this man to the larger room.”

  After seeing the room and finding it suitable, D’Artagnan paid for one night and went back out to the cart.

  “We can take Brother Etienne up to the room now,” he told Brother Xavier.

  Athos, who had been looking at the interior of the stable, had just rejoined them. “The stable is clean and adequate for our needs.”