The Hunt for The Red Cardinal

by Bradley Sinor

  “The other man, you dolt!” Monsieur DuPont spat at the ground.

  “Our prisoner doesn’t seem very friendly,” Aramis said to the others. “Or bright. If he was smart, he would be answering our questions and begging for his life.”

  After an hour or so of fruitless questioning, the suggestion was made that they get some sleep.

  “Morning will come all too soon,” said Athos. “We must be rested, for only the Good Lord knows what will befall us tomorrow.”

  They all lay on the ground surrounding the cart, the front hitching posts jammed against the tree to keep it level. The prisoner was tied with more rope to the posts as well as the tree. Each man wrapped himself in the blankets he had brought. Aramis and D’Artagnan lay next to each other on one side of the cart, and Athos and Porthos lay on the other side.

  “Allais?” whispered Aramis. “How do you think the cardinal is doing? He seems very weak to me. I know the musketeers never got along well with his guards, except for us, of course, but I’m afraid what will happen to France if the cardinal dies.”

  “I am afraid, also,” D’Artagnan replied. “All we can do is our best to keep him safe and alive until we deliver him to . . .” D’Artagnan had almost disclosed their final destination. “I’m sorry, but I can’t say exactly where we’re going. Now we should try to sleep. I think this will be a long journey.”

  Chapter Nine

  One of King Gaston’s advisors knocked on the door to his private quarters. “Your Majesty, there is another message with news of the cardinal.”

  “What does it say this time?” The king had received many messages from people insisting they had seen the cardinal in their towns or villages. Gaston thought, as much as he wanted to know where the cardinal was, or if he was even alive, that all the messages were not worth the trouble it took to write them. Or read them.

  “It says that a man who looks a lot like the cardinal was seen in the town of La Peage. He and some men who looked like mercenaries stayed a night at the rectory with a Father Andreas. The letter was sent by a Marie Antin. Damien Antin is her uncle and works here in the palace,” the advisor said.

  “Let me see it.” Gaston held out his hand for the letter. He read, “Your Majesty, King Gaston. I have reason to believe that the cardinal, Richelieu, stayed for a night in La Peage at the rectory at Father Andreas’ invitation. His party, including a young monk and four mercenaries, will be traveling to the west, I think, when they leave La Peage. Marie Antin, Epernon rectory”

  “Hm. I am aware of her uncle. I know the family has been supporters of mine. Send some men in that direction and tell them who to look for. I want him back alive, but the others may be dealt with however is needed.” He handed the letter back to the advisor and dismissed him.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  A chilly morning came early that day, and with it, a heavy dew. Bird song woke everyone to discover their clothes and bedding were soaking wet. Brother Etienne, by virtue of sleeping in the cart, was dryer, although the air was humid.

  D’Artagnan checked first to see if the cardinal was awake.

  “How are you feeling this morning, Brother Etienne?” D’Artagnan asked him.

  “Still very tired, but now I feel a little hungry. Why are we out here? And who . . .”

  Before anyone could answer, the cardinal said, “Oh, wait. I remember now.”

  “That’s good news. I’ll see what provisions we have.”

  “I suppose we should all change into dry clothing,” said Porthos. “Riding in wet clothes would not be pleasant.”

  “Perhaps, since there is a stream here, we should take some time to bathe,” Aramis suggested. “Our clothing is already wet, and we are covered with road dust. We could clean ourselves before we dress in dry clothing.”

  The rest, except for Brother Etienne and Brother Xavier, plunged into the flowing water and rubbed their clothing against their skin.

  “Brother Xavier, do you have a dry habit to change into?” Porthos asked when he emerged from the water.

  “I fear I do not, Monsieur Georges.” Brother Xavier looked uncomfortable at the admission. “I have only what I am wearing.”

  “Perhaps one of the rest of us has something.” Then Aramis said, looking right at Athos, “Gerard? You seem to be about the same size as our young monk. Do you have anything to spare?”

  “I do have another shirt, but I’m afraid my breeches might be too, uh, small.” Athos looked at Aramis. “Emile? You may be a similar size.”

  Aramis was already looking through his pack. “I have a pair of breeches that Brother Xavier is welcome to try on.” He pulled them out and held them up.

  “But, but, they are so small. I can’t see how they would fit me,” Brother Xavier said.

  “Just try them on,” Aramis said, holding them out to him. “It’s just temporary, after all.”

  Brother Xavier took them and held them up to his waist. Shaking his head, he leaned against the side of the cart and stuck one leg, and then the other, into the legs of the breeches. Then he stood and pulled them up. Pulling up his robe, he fastened the waist.

  “They fit, all right,” Aramis said. “I thought they would. Here’s the shirt.” He handed Athos’ shirt to the monk. “Try that on, too.”

  Brother Xavier took his habit off and laid it over the edge of the cart. Then he pulled the shirt on over his head.

  “It fits, too.”

  The others admired Brother Xavier’s new look, to his chagrin, and then started arranging the wet articles around the cart’s edges to dry.

  “What about our prisoner?” Porthos asked. “He’s wet, too.” Du Pont had been tied securely to the tree trunk during the night and, although he had tried to break his bonds, had been unable to.

  “I say let him be wet. It may loosen his tongue,” replied Athos.

  “I agree,” said D’Artagnan. “Shall we have some breakfast?”

  There was a muffled cry from the prisoner, which was ignored.

  They all shared what they had, being sure that the cardinal had as much as he wanted first. They offered the prisoner the leavings, which he refused.

  “A little more for us, then,” Porthos observed.

  When Porthos went to get the prisoner, he found the man tangled in the ropes.

  “Were you trying to free yourself again?” Porthos asked, leaning against the cart. “You look as though you’re caught up in a giant spider web. Well, I would like to leave you here, but that would be a mistake.”

  He thought a moment, the called out, “Would someone help me with this? Our prisoner may be the intended breakfast for one of those giant spiders I’ve heard about.”

  Athos was the closest, and he went around to the tree. “Well, he seems to have got himself all tangled up. Perhaps we could tie him to the other end of the cart and drag him.”

  D’Artagnan heard what was being said and joined Porthos and Athos. “Oh, my,” he said. “Dragging him would be entertaining, until someone came along and saw him. We had best get him untangled and back on the horse.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Soon they were ready to get back on the road. D’Artagnan rode ahead to scout the road to make sure no one was there to see them reenter it. At his all clear wave, the rest started across the uneven ground to join him.

  Before they got to the screen of trees, though, D’Artagnan started racing back toward them, motioning them to stop and go back. By the time he got to the rest of them, they could hear hoof beats from the road.

  “Go back,” he told them. “Turn the cart and ford the stream. It sounds like a regiment is coming.” When the prisoner heard what D’Artagnan said, he started yelling for help. It was unlikely that anyone on the road would be able to hear him, but Brother Xavier hastily found a scrap of cloth and shoved it into his mouth as a gag.

  “But they are passing and will be gone soon,” Athos said to D’Artagnan. “Can’t we wait them out and go on when they have gotten far enough away?”

&n
bsp; “Yes, but there may be more behind them. I think it would be better to go another way and take the chance that others catch up to us.”

  “But do you know what lies in that direction? There isn’t even a road to follow. What if we get lost?” Athos pressed his case.

  “Nevertheless, I am the leader of this group, and I think it would be to our advantage to go the way I suggest.”

  The others finally agreed, and D’Artagnan rode to one side of the cart horse and motioned for someone else to go to the other side. They took hold of the horse’s harness and guided it toward the stream. The other two took the pack horses and the horse the prisoner was tied to and followed.

  “You two go on ahead,” D’Artagnan told Athos and Aramis, who had the pack horses. “We’ll follow the way you go so we won’t step in holes and spill the cart.”

  Athos and Aramis entered the stream some few yards apart and went slowly. No one wanted a lame or injured horse. They stepped carefully across the rocky bottom of the stream. Fortunately, the stream was calm at that place, but they could hear rapids in the distance. The water came up to the horses’ knees, which was around axle high on the cart. As long as the bed of the cart didn’t leak, the bedding in the cart wouldn’t get wet, but just to be certain, Brother Xavier and Porthos lifted and placed on the seat what they could. That left the cardinal with very little to rest on.

  “I would rather lie on the bottom of the cart for a short time than have to rest on wet bedding for much longer,” he said, wheezing a little.

  They forded the stream successfully but had some trouble mounting the bank of the opposite side. Porthos muttered curses under his breath, although the others could hear him and several joined in. Finally, three of the men on horseback dismounted and got behind to push.

  When the cart was on dry ground, Brother Xavier checked the bed of the cart to make sure it wasn’t wet. Then he replaced all the bedding that had been placed on the seat. Aramis held the cardinal while padding was placed where he lay, then he was placed on it and wrapped in the remaining blankets.

  “I’ve never had to push a cart before,” Athos grumbled. “But I’ve never had to cross a stream with one, either. Shall we not have to do that again, please?”

  “I think we all can agree with that,” Porthos said. “And now we are soaked to the knees. Do you know where we are now?” he asked D’Artagnan.

  “I have a very general idea. I know where we were headed, but I don’t know exactly where we stopped, or where we can get to without going across the stream again.” He rummaged in his saddlebag for the map he carried. “Our next stop was at Ramalard, but we missed it and seem to be headed in an entirely different direction.” He had the map out and spread on a flat rock away from the stream’s bank.

  “I think we stopped here.” He pointed to a place on the map for the others to look at. “See, here’s the fork. After we rescued the monks and got back to where you were attacked, here,” he pointed again, “we rode a little farther, possibly to here.” Another point. “Then we camped about here. Sorry; the map is small and the streams are not marked, so this is just a guess. But I’d place us about – here.” One more point. “And this is the direction we should be going.” The last point.

  “Where will that take us?” Athos said. “Will we still be going in the right direction?”

  “First we need to find out if we can go in that direction. There isn’t a road close by that I can see on the map. If we head in the right direction, we may find a road and we may not. If we do, the road might not be going where we want to go.” D’Artagnan scrutinized the map some more. “Perhaps if we go that way,” he pointed away from the stream, “we will find a road, or a village on a road, or something.”

  “At least it’s a direction,” Athos said. “Let’s go.”

  They all mounted their horses, D’Artagnan keeping his map where he could get to it easily. The way was not smooth, and the cart bounced around continually. Brother Xavier had some trouble staying on his seat, and Brother Etienne prayed until he fell asleep as they looked for a road.

  Their prisoner swayed back and forth on his horse and nearly swung underneath several times. Then he started to, slowly, move himself toward the rear of the horse, meaning to slide off and try to escape. He was resting on the horse’s rump when Porthos noticed and quickly preventing him from completing the act.

  “Allais!” Porthos called to his friend. “Our prisoner is trying to escape.”

  Porthos was holding the man in place by gripping his clothing.

  The other turned to look as Porthos moved the man back to the center of the horse’s back, saying, “Your hands and feet are tied together. How far do you think you could get before we noticed?” Porthos looked to the others. “Perhaps we should knock him unconscious.” Then he looked back at the prisoner. “Do you think that will be necessary?”

  Du Pont just shook his head.

  The area they were travelling through was a forest. Fortunately, the trees were widely-enough spaced and there wasn’t much vegetation on the ground so that, although the way was rough, they did not have to be wary of running into trees. After a while they came across an animal track, perhaps deer, and followed it.

  “Do you think this deer track will lead us to a road?” Athos asked.

  “Of course,” D’Artagnan replied. “Deer always cross roads. There must be tracks to lead them there. I’m sure this one will lead to a road going somewhere. Don’t you think so, Brother Xavier?”

  “What? Oh.” The monk started at hearing his name. He had been so lost in prayer that he had just about dozed off, perilously close to falling off the cart. “Yes, I believe you’re right. I’m sure God is leading us the right way.”

  Before long the sun was high and they started complaining of hunger.

  “Let’s stop by this stream,” Porthos suggested. “At least it’s not going across our path.”

  They stopped and led the horses to the water.

  “Please help me out of the cart,” the cardinal requested. He seemed very weak and could barely move. “I must relieve myself.” Porthos and Aramis lifted him out and carried him to a large tree, holding him up. Then they carried him back to the cart, where Athos and Brother Xavier had shaken out the bedding and arranged it back in the cart.

  After that, they inventoried their supplies. Other than some grain for the horses, they didn’t have much. There was some bread, cheese, and dried meat. Athos unearthed a bottle of wine and another of beer. After the last of them had taken his turn behind a tree and returned, they ate their meal.

  All that time the prisoner had been lying across the back of the horse.

  “Should we let him off for a few minutes?” Aramis asked. “It must be very hard traveling like that.”

  “He could be dead,” Porthos pointed out. “If he wanted to live, he shouldn’t have attacked us.”

  They started out again following the same track. In the distance they could see a small cabin.

  “Shall we see if someone is home?” asked Aramis. “Maybe we could get an idea of where we are.”

  “Perhaps we should conceal our prisoner first,” said D’Artagnan. “We don’t want our motives misconstrued.”

  “Is there enough room to squeeze him into the cart without discomforting Brother Etienne?” Aramis asked.

  D’Artagnan examined the remaining room in the cart and then scrutinized their prisoner’s size.

  “I think so. Your Eminence, could you move as close to the side as you can? We’ll conceal our prisoner under the blankets and put some of our supplies on top.”

  They made sure Monsieur DuPont was gagged and well-tied. They then covered him with some of the drying clothes.

  “If you make a single sound or motion before we uncover you, your life will be extremely short,” Athos warned him.

  “Maybe we should knock him out first,” suggested Porthos. “That way he won’t even be able to move.”

  “Should we do that, monsieur?�
� Athos inquired of the prisoner, who shook his head violently.

  “No? Then be absolutely silent and still.”

  When they were near the cabin, they were hailed by a man standing nearby.

  “Monsieurs, do you know you are on private property? This wood belongs to the King. You must leave immediately,” he said to them.

  D’Artagnan dismounted and walked up to the man. “That is what we are trying to do. My friends and I are escorting an injured monk back to his family home to recover. Several miles back and across a stream, we were nearly accosted by highwaymen and had to escape. Because we had been camping by the stream, we thought it best to cross it and change our direction. Thus, we are lost and didn’t know we were crossing the King’s wood. If you can direct us to the nearest road, we will gladly leave the wood and proceed to our destination.”

  “I see,” the man said. “Can you prove that your story is true?”

  “I can, but what would happen if we could not prove it? Or if you don’t believe us? All I can do is ask you to speak to Brother Etienne. He will verify the story,” D‘Artagnan said. He turned back toward the others “Is Brother Etienne awake?”

  “I am,” came a soft voice.

  “Could you please explain to this man our intentions?”

  Because D’Artagnan had been speaking loudly, the cardinal had heard and knew how to answer the man’s questions.

  Straining to hear the monk, the man walked closer to the cart.

  “Yes, monsieur, what Allais told you is true. I was being escorted toward my old home near Nantes when we encountered the highwaymen.” That was all the cardinal was able to say for a few moments. Then he continued, “We just want to find the closest road so we can find out where we are and which way we need to go.” It took several minutes for the cardinal to say this, and he didn’t need to try to look ill. He had been chilled during the night, even though he wasn’t sleeping on the ground with the others, and he shivered a bit.

  The man thought for a moment. He could see he was vastly outnumbered and had no chance of winning if there was a fight.