The Hunt for The Red Cardinal

by Bradley Sinor

  He rode southwest, aiming for Paris. He knew someone there who would be very interested in his find, someone who might pay well. He rode swiftly as long as his horse held out, then he had to stop. The sun was coming up, and he found that he was hungry. He had no provisions with him and he didn’t know if there was another village near, but his horse had to rest and graze. He would get nowhere without a horse. He moved away from the road so as not to be seen, leaning against a tree to wait until he could ride again.

  Because he had gotten little sleep that night, his head began to droop, and soon he dozed off. Then he fell over, but instead of waking, he squirmed around to get comfortable on the ground. He was a deep sleeper, so when he finally awoke it was late afternoon. He went to get his horse and then looked around for his bag, which was nowhere to be found.

  “It must have been stolen!” he said to himself. “The thief cannot have gotten very far, but which way would he have gone?” The thought of going after the thief was too much for Monsieur Baudin, so he decided to go back home and tell his landlord that his plans had changed. At least his rent was paid for a week.

  Meanwhile, the latest thief of the robe and biretta was continuing in the same direction as Monsieur Baudin had been. He promised himself that he would not stop for any reason until he got to his destination. He had to break that promise several times during his journey, but he kept the items with him at all times.

  That is, until his horse stepped in a hole and stumbled and he was thrown, hitting his head on a large stone. The bag containing the items had been tied to the horse’s saddle. The horse recovered from his stumble and abandoned his rider. The horse was hungry and knew the way back home. He turned around, going back the way he had come, and eventually overtook Monsieur Baudin.

  Monsieur Baudin heard a horse galloping up behind him. He turned to see who was about to catch up to him and saw a riderless horse. He angled his horse so that he could grab hold of the reins as the other horse passed. Then he saw the bag tied to the saddle.

  It wasn’t hard to catch the horse, but it was hard to hold him. It seemed as if the other horse was on a mission and wouldn’t be delayed. Monsieur Baudin urged his horse to keep up with the other and held onto the reins, slowly bringing both of them to a stop. He leaned over and untied the bag, peeking inside to verify its contents. It’s the bag that was stolen from me! I must be meant to take it somewhere, but to whom? Perhaps I should take it to the next church and give it to a priest. I could say I found it. After all, I did find it. He tied it to his own saddle letting the other horse go on his way.

  Monsieur thought a moment. Should he go back to his village or turn around and go on to Paris? After another moment, he decided. Paris, it was.

  It was starting to get late, again, but Monsieur Baudin wasn’t sleepy, or even tired. He was excited to have found his bag again. He kept riding and soon came to a village. He was hungry, so he decided to stop for a meal.

  The inn was small and busy and hot. It was approaching late May. The air was warming, the trees were full and many flowers bloomed along the road. But inside the inn, Monsieur Baudin would have been quite comfortable in early January. He took off his jacket and draped it over the bag he was carrying. He found a small table just vacated in the middle of the room. He would have preferred a dark corner, but there wasn’t one. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling and all the candles were lit. The windows were small, and even though they were open they didn’t admit much breeze.

  He put the bag at his feet and his hat on the table. Soon a young woman arrived to take his order.

  “Ale and supper,” he told her.

  “No room?” she said, frowning. “I’m Mariette, and I think a strong, handsome man like you needs his sleep.”

  She looked promising, but he declined. “Just what I asked for.”

  Soon she returned with a mug and plate. Setting it on the table, she leaned over, letting her cleavage show. “You sure?”

  He looked, then shook his head, saying, “I must be on my way. Important business in Paris,” and gave her a coin in payment for the meal.

  The ale wasn’t too bad, for the price, and the food was no more than it needed to be. He ate and drank quickly, and while he wasn’t looking, Mariette refilled his mug. He lifted it and took a drink before he realized it was fuller than it should have been. After a second drink, a man at the next table called out to him.

  “Just passing through, are you? Where are you headed?”

  “Paris,” Monsieur Baudin replied.

  “Ah, Paris. Big city, that. Don’t get lost in it, now.” He lifted his mug in a toast. “Here’s to the King!”

  Monsieur Baudin felt obliged to answer the toast with a hearty, “The King!” and drain his mug. While his back was turned, Mariette brought another full mug, whisking the empty one away.

  He looked at it, shrugged, and took another deep drink. He was starting to feel wobbly and decided he needed to leave, but before he knew it, Mariette and a large man had him on his feet and up the stairs. He struggled as much as he could, but the man punched him in the head and he lost consciousness.

  After Monsieur Baudin had been removed from his table, the man with whom he had toasted the king slid out of his chair and onto the one at the smaller table. As if he had been sitting there all along, he took a drink from the mug that had been left there. Then he put on the hat that Monsieur Baudin had left, picked up the jacket-draped bag and left the inn. The horse that must have belonged to the man was tied to the rail in front of the inn. The man mounted the horse and rode on toward Paris.

  At the inn, Mariette and the large man removed the contents from Monsieur Baudin’s pockets before removing him from the inn.

  The next morning Monsieur Baudin found himself in a meadow, without bag, horse or money. However, he saw a large bull not too far away which seemed to be taking an interest in him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monsieur Faucher, the man now in possession of the bag, stopped some distance away from the village to inspect its contents. He had no knowledge of what was in the bag, but he thought he might be able to make a profit with whatever it held. He stopped behind a tree off the road for privacy and set the bag on the ground. He undid the clasp and opened the bag as wide as he could.

  “What?” he said as he pulled the red garment out. He held it up, shaking out its folds. A red hat fell out. He could see stains and a large tear in the robe. He turned it back and forth and held it up to himself to gauge the size. He’d seen something like it before, in a cathedral in Paris. It’s a cardinal’s robe, he thought. Why would the robe and hat of a cardinal be in this bag? And why would it be torn and stained. He thought a moment and a glimmer of memory came to him. Cardinal. THE Cardinal. He was hurt awhile back, I think. Shot? Maybe. Could this be his robe? But how did it get here, to me? Maybe it’s supposed to be mine. Yes! Maybe I’m the new cardinal. He carefully pulled the robe over his clothing and put the biretta on his head. They seemed to fit. He took them off again and carefully pulled his own outer garments off, stuffing them in the bag. Then he put the robe back on.

  “I’m the cardinal now,” he said to no one.

  He headed back to his home, which was in a village outside of Paris. It was early morning when he arrived, still dark, and no one was out and about yet. He found his way to his small cottage and went in, taking care not to wake his wife. She would be quite incensed at his late arrival. He stopped just inside the door and took off the robe and biretta, which had completely dried along the way. He folded them back up and put them back in the bag, put his clothes back on and hid the bag in a corner under a chair.

  “Pierre, is that you?” his wife, Annette, called from the second room, where they slept. “Are you just getting home?”

  “Oh, no. I’m just getting up. I wanted to let you sleep, since you work so hard.”

  “Hmmph,” she said, entering the room. “And did you bring back money?”

  He pulled some coins from a poc
ket. “I brought this.”

  She counted them and looked at him. “I’d hoped you’d bring back more, although I know the horse wasn’t worth that much.” She looked around the room and saw the bag, which hadn’t been hidden as well as he thought it had been. “What is that?”

  Pierre thought fast. He looked around at what she was pointing to, and said, “Oh, that. I’d forgotten about it.” Although he was loath to show it to her, he knew she would find out its contents anyway. “It’s something I found along the way. I haven’t even looked inside yet.”

  “Found along the way? Stole, more likely. But let’s see what’s inside first, before I pass judgement.” She pulled the bag out from under the chair. Opening it wide, she pulled the robe and biretta out and held them up. Then she gasped, looking at her husband. “Do you know what this is?” she said, excitedly.

  He looked it up and down, as if he’d never seen it before. “I’m not sure. What is it?”

  “Well, of course you wouldn’t know. You’ve never seen a cardinal before. I saw that dead cardinal, Richelieu, once when I was in Paris visiting relatives. I think it is his robe.” She spread it on the table. “See, this tear is where he was injured. It looks like it has been ill-treated, maybe wet. Someone must have stolen it from wherever he was after it was removed from his body.”

  “How do you know he’s dead? I haven’t heard anything about it.”

  “Well, he must be by now. No one’s heard a word from him. And the new king hasn’t posted notices that the cardinal has been captured.” She thought a moment. “Do you think he may still be alive and in hiding? Perhaps he plans to raise an army and try to overthrow King Gaston.” She looked at her husband. “You stay away from anyone who has authority, and don’t tell anyone about this. We could be arrested if anyone thinks we stole the cardinal’s robe.”

  “Of course, my dear. Now, how about some breakfast? I’m starving.”

  “In a minute. I’m going to hide this where no one can find it. Then I’ll decide what to do with it.”

  She bundled it back into the bag and shoved it as far under their bed as she could, placing a few other items in front. Then she got dressed and fixed them both breakfast.

  “I’ll take that money now. I need to go to the market since we’re almost completely out of food.” Putting her hat on and the money in a pocket, she went outside. “Where did this horse come from?” she asked as she stepped back inside.

  Her husband grinned and said, “I found him, too.”

  “He’s a much better horse than you sold yesterday. We could get much more for him.”

  “I’d like to keep him for a while,” Pierre said.

  “Then take him around back where there’s grass and he won’t be seen. I guess we’ll have to bring him water in a bucket.” She went off to do her marketing.

  “Take him around back. Bring him water,” Pierre said to himself in a whiney voice. “Maybe I should sell him. I could tell her he was stolen and keep the money.” He thought a minute. And I could take that bundle and sell it, too. Tell her that thieves broke in and stole it and the horse. After debating with himself for a few minutes, he went inside and took the bundle. Then he led the horse to the back of the house, mounted it and rode off toward Paris, holding the bag in front of him. He knew a man who would pay well for something as valuable as what he wanted to sell. After winding through the streets for a while, he found the man’s shop.

  “Thomas,” he called to his friend as he entered. “I have something you will want. And a horse, too.”

  “Pierre, good to see you. Show me what you have,” Thomas answered.

  Pierre went up to him, saying, “In private. You won’t want anyone else to see.”

  “What could you have that would be that valuable, huh? Come back here and show me.”

  They went behind a curtain that shielded the back of the shop from the public area.

  “Just look.” Pierre handed Thomas the bag. Thomas opened the brown bag and picked up a rag, then another and another. He looked at Pierre questioningly. Pierre stared at the rags.

  “That wife of mine has tricked me,” he said. “I’ll go back and get what I meant to bring.”

  “What about the horse?” asked Thomas.

  “I’ll bring him back, too. Right now I’m in a hurry and need to ride rather than walk.” He left the bag full of rags and ran out of the shop, mounted the horse, and left for his home.

  Pierre’s wife returned from the market with a basket of vegetables, bread, and cheese, only to find him and the horse gone. She hurried inside to check on the bag she’d hidden. Sure enough, the bag was gone. It was a good thing, she thought, that she had removed the robe and biretta and put some old rags in the bag, putting the original contents under the mattress.

  “It will serve him right when he finds that he doesn’t have anything to sell, after all.”

  Pierre’s wife took the robe and biretta and placed them in her market basket after she put her purchases away. Then she covered it with a white cloth and took it to the village priest.

  “Father Matthias, I found these next to the stream when I went to gather herbs. I think I know what they are, and I want you to have them.”

  “Annette, what do you have?” She handed him the basket, uncovering the contents. Father Matthias picked up the robe and shook it out. “Annette, where did you get this?”

  “Where I told you, Father. By the stream. Someone must have dropped it there unawares.”

  The priest looked the robe over carefully, noting the tears and stains.

  “You said you thought you knew what it is. Tell me what you thought.”

  “We heard, of course, about King Louis’ death and that Cardinal Richelieu was injured. This looks to me like the robe of a cardinal. And the hat, the biretta, could those have been his?”

  Father Matthias thought a moment. “I haven’t heard any more than you about the Cardinal, but these do look like the robe and biretta of one. And the damage to the cloth could mean it belonged to Cardinal Richelieu. Leave them with me. I will take them to where they should go.”

  “Thank you, Father.

  When Pierre returned to his home, his wife wasn’t there. He looked under the bed, but didn’t find what he was looking for. Then he looked every place he could think of, which didn’t take long. The house was small and they didn’t have many possessions. Then he thought, “She’s taken it to the priest.” He left for the village’s church and met her on her way home.

  “What have you done with it?” he demanded.

  “I gave it to the priest, as should have been done right away,” she retorted, passing him on her way. “He’ll take care of it and we won’t be in any trouble.”

  “I could have gotten a lot of money for it,” he said in a low voice so as not to attract attention.

  “I had to lie about where it came from.” She whispered back. “Now, if you want money, sell the horse.”

  Father Matthias, who had given Annette back her basket, took the robe and biretta and wrapped them carefully in a spare alter cloth. He wrapped the package in a piece of woolen fabric and tied the bundle with string. Then he locked the church’s front door, went to a neighbor’s home and asked to borrow a horse.

  “I’ll be back before dark. I have to visit a parishioner in the country.” He didn’t explain further, but took the horse, attached the well-wrapped bundle to the saddle, and left for Paris.

  He reached Paris within two hours and headed for the residence of a long-time friend. When he got there, he led the horse around to the back where he could give it some water. Then he knocked on the rear entrance.

  The door opened and a young woman looked out. “Oh, Father Matthias! It’s good to see you again.”

  “Good day, Audrey, I must see the cardinal as soon as possible. I have something I think he’s been looking for.”

  “Come in, Father. I will get Pascal.”

  Father Matthias waited inside for just a moment, until his fri
end’s secretary appeared.

  “Father Matthias. Audrey said you were here to see the Cardinal. I’m afraid he is – unavailable -- at the moment. Could I help you?”

  “I have brought an important item to him, one I think he would like to have. When might he be available?”

  Pascal thought for a moment before motioning Father Matthias to follow him. He led the priest to the room upstairs in which the Cardinal had spoken to the guard and the musketeers.

  “I’m afraid that he will not become available for some time. He has been arrested by the king. King Gaston, I mean.”

  “What? Why was he arrested?” The priest was shocked that a cardinal of the church had been arrested.

  “They said for conspiring against King Gaston by keeping Cardinal Richelieu’s whereabouts secret. I don’t know when, if at all, he will be released.” Pascal looked at what Father Matthias was carrying. “That is something you brought to give him?”

  “Yes. Although now I don’t know what to do with it.” He looked at the secretary. “Perhaps here would not be a good place to leave it.”

  “May I know what it is?” the secretary asked.

  “I suppose so. This morning one of my parishioners came to me carrying a basket with this wrapped inside.” He unwrapped the wool covering and set it aside. Then he unwrapped the alter cloth and spread the contents out on the table.

  Pascal looked at it and gasped. “Is it Cardinal Richelieu’s?”

  “I believe so. She said she had found it beside a stream this morning, as if someone had dropped it. I don’t know; it may be true. But her husband is known to ‘find’ things that belong to others.”

  “I see.” The secretary thought for a while. “There is a place I know of that items can be put for safekeeping. If you will trust me, I can put this there and tell no one until Cardinal Tremblay is released or you come for it. Do I have your permission to do that?”

  Father Matthias thought for a moment. He figured that if Cardinal Tremblay trusted Pascal, he had no reason not to trust him.