The Hunt for The Red Cardinal

by Bradley Sinor

  “I can examine him now, before dinner, and then again later, after he has been taken to his room.

  About that time, the rectory’s housekeeper entered the study. “I can show you to your rooms, if you’d like, Monsieurs. Right this way.” She started up the stairs, with D’Artagnan and Athos following, carrying their belongings.

  The rooms were not overlarge, with two narrow beds, a chest of drawers, and two chairs in each. The rooms were across from each other, overlooking the front and back of the house.

  “Thank you, madam,” D’Artagnan told the housekeeper.

  “Dinner will be in a few minutes, if you would like to refresh yourselves.” She pointed to the basins and pitchers of water in each room. “There is a privy out the back, and a chamber pot under each bed.”

  Then she turned and went back downstairs, leaving the men standing in the hall. They each went into a room to wash the road dust off of their hands and faces, then returned downstairs, ready for dinner.

  The two guards met Father Andreas in the dining room.

  “I am afraid that Brother Etienne’s wound is not healing well, at all. The journey is very hard on him and his stamina must be low,” Father Andreas told them. “He seemed to be muttering something while he slept. Would it be possible for you to stay another day so he can rest?”

  “I’m sorry, Father, but we have been urged to not tarry on this journey, but if it would be too dangerous for him to continue on the journey tomorrow, we would have to wait. Is it?” D’Artagnan was afraid that word would get out if they stayed too long, but he didn’t want to endanger the cardinal’s health.

  “Well, no, it shouldn’t be overly dangerous for him, if the way isn’t too rough, but it could be debilitating.”

  “In that case, Father, I’m afraid that we must be on our way,” D’Artagnan said. “We appreciate your hospitality very much, but we don’t wish to tax it.”

  They fell to their dinner, finishing quickly as they were all hungry. Afterwards, Athos carried the monk upstairs and to bed.

  “I’m glad Brother Xavier wanted to speak to Father Andreas. It gives us a chance to talk,” Athos said.

  “I’m glad he didn’t recognize Brother Etienne,” D’Artagnan added. “He is not on my list of safe people.”

  “Where is our next stop, tomorrow?” Athos continued.

  “Maintenon,” D’Artagnan said, reading the letter. “I think all our stops are around five to nine miles apart.” He looked at the cardinal. “When he is better, we should be able to make better time.”

  “If the horse can pull the cart faster,” Athos replied.

  Chapter Seven

  “H

  old up!” Porthos called. “It’s not a race and we don’t have to get there before they do.”

  Aramis looked back. He was three horse lengths ahead of Porthos.

  “Besides, we have something to decide,” Porthos went on.

  Aramis reined his horse to a walk, waiting for Porthos to catch up. “What do we have to decide?” he asked.

  Porthos reined his own horse to a walk as he caught up. “We have to decide who we are. Will I be Georges or will you? Which one of us will be Emile?”

  “Oh. That. It really doesn’t make that much difference to me. If you want to be Georges, then you can be Georges. Actually, I think Emile is a nobler name.”

  “Nobler, huh. You don’t think Georges is noble?” Porthos looked at Aramis, eyebrows arched.

  “Well, Georges is noble enough, but not more so than Emile.”

  “I beg to differ,” Porthos said in a huff. “I think Georges is much nobler. There have been kings of that name. I can’t think of any king named Emile.”

  “Oh, I’m sure there have been. And plenty of nobles of other ranks, as well.” Aramis stroked his beard. “Yes. I think I like the name Emile.” He looked over at Porthos and bowed, as much as he could from horseback, and tipped his hat. “Good day, monsieur. My name is Emile Gillette.”

  “Very well. Good day to yourself, monsieur. My name is Georges Moreau.”

  “I think we should call each other by those names only. If we do that, perhaps we won’t use our real names by accident.”

  “Not a bad idea, Emile.”

  “Thank you, Georges.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  A loud knock was heard at the door of the rectory. “What was that?” Athos asked.

  “I think someone just knocked on the front door. I’ll go look down the stairs to see if it’s anyone we should know about,” D’Artagnan said.

  He arrived at the top of the stairs just as the door was opened. Standing out of sight, he peeked over the banister. He could hear voices, but couldn’t make out what was being said for a moment. Then he heard Father Andreas say, “Yes, we have four travelers staying with us. Let me call them down.” He turned to the stairs and called, “Allais, Gerard, would you come down a moment, please.”

  D’Artagnan started down the steps. When he saw who the visitors were, his speed increased.

  “You called for me, Father?” he said.

  “Ah, Monsieur Dubois. Thank you for coming down.” He turned to the other men and said, “Monsieur Moreau? Monsieur Gillette? This is Monsieur Dubois.”

  Before the priest could say anything else, D’Artagnan strode forward and embraced first Porthos, and then Aramis.

  “Georges! Emile!” he said, looking from one to the other. “I’m so glad you could join us. Gerard is still upstairs with Brother Etienne. And here is Brother Xavier,” he said as the young monk entered from another room.

  “Brother Xavier, my friends Georges Moreau,” Porthos bowed, “and Emile Gillette,” Aramis bowed. “They will be traveling with us. Father, I hate to ask, but do you have another room available for my friends?”

  “I do, but not as large as the ones you and your companions have. But it does have a larger bed.”

  “That will do just fine,” D’Artagnan replied. “My friends, here, are quite used to sleeping on the ground. They may even decide to sleep on the floor of the room instead of the bed. Thank you again.”

  Father Andreas summoned the housemaid and said, “Roxane, please ask the stable boy to see to the horses of these two gentlemen. They should fit into the stable along with the others and the cart.”

  “Thank you, Father Andreas, but we must retrieve our belongings first,” Emile said. “Georges, why don’t you do that while I find our room?”

  Porthos almost said something, but caught himself. “Of course. I shall be back soon.”

  “Monsieurs, we have just finished dinner, but if you haven’t eaten, I think we could find something left over,” Father Andreas said.

  Emile bowed. “We thank you with pleasure. We have been riding hard to catch up with our friends and would welcome refreshments.” He turned to Georges. “I will see you down here in a few moments.

  “As you say.”

  D’Artagnan led Aramis up the stairs, followed by the housekeeper to show them the room the new visitors would use. It was next door to D’Artagnan’s and the cardinal’s room.

  “This will do nicely,” Aramis said. “It will be for just one night, anyway. Georges and I would have slept on the kitchen floor if needed. Thank you.” The housekeeper nodded and left.

  “Our rooms are right here,” D’Artagnan told him as they went back the way they had come. “These two.” He pointed at the doors across from each other. Then he opened the door to the room the cardinal and he would use.

  “I thought I heard a familiar voice,” said Athos, embracing Aramis. “Is Porthos with you?”

  “Yes, he just went out to get our things before the horses are stabled. He’ll be right up.”

  “Would you watch for him, and also watch for Brother Xavier. We have things to catch up on, with the young monk out of earshot,” D’Artagnan said to Athos.

  Athos left and D’Artagnan went on. “Aramis, this is our patient, Cardinal Richelieu, who we call Brother Etienne. The cardinal is very ill. I
’m sure Cardinal Tremblay filled you in.”

  “He did. How is he doing?” Aramis nodded toward the cardinal.

  “Unfortunately, not well. He drifts in and out of consciousness. The journey has not and will not be an easy one.”

  “Where are we taking him?”

  “I have an itinerary in my possession,” D’Artagnan answered. “But Cardinal Tremblay asked that I not give out the information of where we are going. To anyone. Tomorrow I will tell you where our next stop for the night is. I’m sorry, but those are my instructions.”

  Just then Porthos entered, followed by Athos.

  “Brother Xavier is back in conference with Father Andreas.”

  He closed the door.

  “There’s something Aramis and I decided shortly before we got here that I think we all should do,” Porthos said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, we were deciding which pseudonym each of us should use: Georges or Emile. We decided I would be Georges and Aramis would be Emile, and we should use only those names. That way we won’t get mixed up and use our real names at the wrong time. What do you think?”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea. What do you think, Gerard?” D’Artagnan said to Athos.

  “I think that’s what we should do, Allais,” he replied. “Brother Etienne will still be Etienne, of course, and Brother Xavier is the same. He does know about our mission, but not how important it is.”

  “But why is Brother Xavier here, anyway?” Georges asked. “Why have a stranger along with us?”

  “Because he made a fuss to the abbot at the monastery where the cardinal had been taken. He wanted to come along. Fortunately, he had just recently arrived there and the brothers didn’t know him very well. He wanted to study or something with the cardinal and asked permission. The abbot decided it was safer to have him with us, since he was convinced he knew ‘Etienne’s’ identity. That way he couldn’t let it slip among the rest of the monks who don’t know. Whatever the reason, he’s here and we can’t do anything about it. Unless he poses a threat, of course. Then we’ll leave him with the next priest we encounter, telling him that Xavier has been talking treason and not to believe anything he says.”

  “Well, all right, then. I guess that’s that,” Georges said. “Where is our room? As much as I’d love to catch up with you, we’ve been riding hard to do it, and I would like to get some sleep.”

  “Right this way, Georges,” Emile told him. “Would you like the right or the left side of the bed?”

  “First I would like the dinner we were promised. Shall we go down?”

  “Agreed. We will see you in the morning,” Emile said to the others.

  Chapter Eight

  “C

  ook, you’ll never guess who one of our guests is,” Roxanne, the housemaid, said as she entered the kitchen.

  “I don’t guess, girl, and I don’t much care who the guests are as long as they don’t make trouble and appreciate our hospitality.” The cook, a plump older woman with her gray hair tucked up under her mobcap continued the cleaning she had been doing when the housemaid had interrupted her.

  “Well, I’ll tell you, then. The older man, the one that’s ill, he looks exactly like Cardinal Richelieu, the king’s minister. I saw him when I took the plate of food to the young monk.”

  The cook stiffened briefly, then asked, “And how would you know that, girl? When has the likes of you ever seen the likes of him?”

  “It was before I came here. I was sent to Paris to stay with my grandparents for a short time. I’d never been away from home and longed to see Paris, so my parents let me go. It was only for a week, but the cardinal attended the king when he addressed the public while I was there, and I got to be in the first row.” The thought of that trip took her back as she remembered the event. “He looked so tall and stern, but I could swear I saw a twinkle in his eyes once. He was so impressive.”

  “Believe me, there was no twinkle in his eyes. I’ve seen him, too, and I didn’t find him impressive. But never you mind. You keep away from the strangers. You don’t know what they’re like.”

  “Yes’m, I will.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  After her duties were finished for the day, the cook went to her room and thought. If it were true that Cardinal Richelieu was in the house, she had to let her uncle know about it. When she was sure that everyone was asleep in bed, she took an unlit candle and sneaked back downstairs and into Father Andreas’ study. Silently, she closed the door, lit her candle and carefully slid a single piece of parchment from the stack on the priest’s desk. She took a quill and opened a pot of ink. Then she quickly penned a letter. She let the paper sit long enough for the ink to dry, then waved it back and forth for good measure. She folded it and sealed it with the priest’s wax and stamp. Then, last, she wrote the address of her uncle on the outside, put everything away, and left the room, taking the letter.

  The next morning, after breakfast, when she went to do the day’s marketing, she took the letter with her and gave it to the town’s messenger. “Pierre, Father Andreas gave me this to be sent right away.”

  “Of course.” He looked at the address. “And who would this be? I’ve never seen a letter of his going to this address.”

  “Why are you asking me? I don’t look over his shoulder when he’s writing correspondence. Nor does he ask me who to write to. He sounded as if it’s urgent, so get on with you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be leaving later this morning. Good day to you.”

  “Good day,” she answered, completed her shopping and returned to the rectory.

  She was sure her uncle would want to know about Cardinal Richelieu staying at her priest’s home. He was no lover of the late king, Louis. Although, since he was just a minor functionary at the palace, no one knew that. Monsieur Gaston was sure to want to find the cardinal, and if he could get word to any of Monsieur’s men, the cardinal could be captured and her uncle could be raised to a higher office.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  The next morning, bright and early, five of the six travelers awoke, readied themselves, and descended the stairs. Porthos carried the cardinal, who had awakened briefly when moved. They had hoped to get away before the priest was up, but their hopes were dashed when he greeted them at the foot of the stairs.

  “Good morning, my friends. How are you today? Would you like to join me for the early service before you resume your journey?” he said.

  D’Artagnan looked at Xavier, who looked back hopefully.

  “I would like that very much,” the younger monk said.

  D’Artagnan sighed silently. He had so wanted to be away early. “Thank you, Father, we will join you. But, of course, Brother Etienne will have to stay here. Then we must leave right after; we have far to go.”

  “Of course. I will ask Cook to prepare some food for you to take with you. I know you’ll be hungry, and you shouldn’t ride on empty stomachs.”

  “Very generous of you, Father,” Athos said. “We are in your debt.”

  “I will stay with Brother Etienne,” Porthos offered. “Should I carry him back upstairs?”

  “You may lay him on the settee in my study,” Father Andreas said. “And I will not urge you to stay any longer, as I know you want to be on your way.”

  Their time in church gave them a much-needed rest and a feeling of peace.

  “If we ever return to this village, we must attend one of Father Andreas’ services,” Aramis said. “I felt – peaceful -- in there, as though everything will turn out well. He gave an inspiring sermon.”

  As they left the church, each left a coin in the collection box for the poor.

  They returned to retrieve Porthos and Brother Etienne and were soon traveling on.

  After they had been on the road for a while, the cardinal seemed to revive a little. He pushed himself to a sitting position, but then thought the better of it and sank back down. Brother Xavier looked back and asked, “Are you feeling better, Em
inence? Or did the bouncing of the cart wake you?”

  “Perhaps a little better,” the cardinal answered in a slow, soft voice. “But I think the rough road might have caused me to wake. I will try to go back to sleep now.”

  “I had better pay more attention to the road,” Brother Xavier said to himself.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  “Who did you say sent you this message?” Gaston, soon to be His Majesty, King of France, asked Terrye Jo Tillman.

  “It was sent by your man, GBJF.” She handed him the message that had been sent by radio.

  “I see. Thank you.” With that, he left the radio room at his brother-in-law’s home in Turin without reading it. He knew that Mademoiselle Tillman had transcribed the message and knew the contents, but that couldn’t be helped. He also knew that he would be taking her with him to Paris when he left Turin. She would be his – man? – there, in charge of the radio in the palace.

  In the privacy of his suite, after dismissing his entourage, he settled into a comfortable chair and unfolded the paper.

  ‘Possible location found. Stop. Monastery in Clairefontaine. Stop. Person’s presence not verified, but most likely there. Stop. Location may change soon. Stop. Will send more information when acquired. End of message.’

  He went to his door and summoned his host, Duke Victor Amadeus, the husband of his sister.

  “Gaston,” the duke said as he entered the suite. At a look from his guest, he quickly added, “Excuse me. Your Royal Highness,” and bowed deeply.

  “Soon to be Your Majesty, Victor. Don’t forget that.”

  “Of course. Your Majesty,” Victor said and bowed again.

  Gaston handed him the message he had just reread for the third time. “What do you make of this?”

  Victor read it. “Who sent you this?”

  “Soissons. A message was sent to him by one of his men, who thought he’d found the cursed cardinal.”

  He read it again and looked up at Gaston. “Have you sent anyone around the countryside looking for evidence of Richelieu’s death? Or life? Did Soissons do that? Has anyone else?”