The Hunt for The Red Cardinal

by Bradley Sinor

  “I have no way of knowing if they are riding after us or what their intent is,” he said.

  “We should assume that their intent is not to assist us,” D’Artagnan said. “I may be doing them a disservice by saying that, but it is safer to keep our distance. We should stay here for a while. Let’s return to the stream where we’ll not be seen.”

  They turned and went back, staying north of the stream and moving closer to the river. The horses were tied to trees next to a patch of grass and the cart was screened by fallen brush. D’Artagnan and Montaigne went back to the edge of the wood, each climbing a tree so they wouldn’t be seen.

  After half an hour they heard hoof beats again, coming from the south. As the horses passed by them, they recognized Monsieur Babineau, their host from the previous night, and one of his neighbors, Monsieur Rousseau. After they had gone on, D’Artagnan slid from his hiding place and went to the tree Montaigne was in.

  “Why do you think they were riding north? Do you think they were following us?” D’Artagnan asked.

  “Yes, I do,” Montaigne answered. “Why else would they be going so fast? They overestimated our speed, though. I wonder why they didn’t come through the woods. If they had, they would surely have seen us.” He thought for a moment. “When they do not find us, they will come back, looking more closely. We should be prepared.”

  Montaigne said he would stay and watch for them to return. D’Artagnan went back and told the others what might happen and to be ready.

  “We must find a better place for you to hide,” he told Brother Etienne.

  “Can you see us here if you stand farther away?” the monk asked. “The brush pile seems to screen us sufficiently.”

  D’Artagnan mounted his horse and moved back away from them.

  “If you both sit or lay flat on the ground, I shouldn’t be able to see you. I can see the horse, however.” They decided to unhitch the horse and move him farther toward the river, since the ground was lower there. They tied him to another tree, and D’Artagnan went back to look again.

  “If we pile a little more brush on, the front of the cart should be hidden,” D’Artagnan said. The two-wheeled cart rested on its rear, with the posts the horse was attached to sticking up in the air. “Or we could turn the cart on its side.” He called Porthos, Athos and, Aramis to help him turn the cart over. What bags and bundles that had been on the floor of the cart now were on the ground.

  Brother Xavier sat down beside the jumble and said, “We might as well go through these bags to see what we have left.”

  Brother Etienne sat beside him to help, leaning his back against the bed of the cart.

  D’Artagnan rode back a way and said, “Now I can’t see you at all. Georges, would you stay with them while the rest of us take our places in the trees?”

  They took the rest of the horses and tied them with the cart horse. Then they spread out, climbed trees, and waited for the men to return.

  They didn’t have to wait long. Apparently the fathers had caught up with their sons, and the four of them were retracing their steps.

  As they approached the woods, Monsieur Babineau said to the boys, “Did you ride through the woods or around it?”

  “Around,” the boy answered. “We could see through the trees, and we didn’t see anyone.”

  “Then where are they? We have traveled much faster than they could have, that cart slowing them, and we haven’t passed them or caught up. Besides, the tide is in and they wouldn’t be able to cross on the causeway yet,” Monsieur Babineau said, frustrated. “Follow me through the woods.”

  They had spoken loud enough for D’Artagnan and Athos to hear them. They couldn’t consult with each other or they’d be overheard. But once the two fathers and their sons had passed, going into the woods, D’Artagnan dropped from his tree, followed by Athos. They slipped silently to the trees Montaigne and Aramis hid in, motioning them to come down.

  “The men and boys have come into this wood, searching for us. We must get to the others before they do,” D’Artagnan told them. “Follow me.”

  He went toward the river as quickly and quietly as he could, followed by the rest. The bank was littered with small rocks, but there were no large rocks to obstruct their passage. In minutes, they were with the horses, which made no sound, since they knew their masters.

  “Georges!” D’Artagnan called in a muted voice. “Come down here.”

  Georges slipped down the bank, asking the monks to remain where they were.

  D’Artagnan told him of the men searching the woods for them.

  “I’m going to move farther along the riverbank to the south, trying to lure them away from you. Leave the cart and its horse and ride as quickly as you can on to the shore. We can retrieve them later. Two of you,” he said to the rest, “take a monk up with you. Whoever takes Brother Etienne should place him in front. One of the farmers said that the tide was high, so you may have to hide again when you get there. I will rejoin you when I can.”

  “Let me go with you. If you are discovered you may need help fighting them off,” Porthos urged D’Artagnan.

  “I am hurt you think me not up to defeating two farmers and their young sons,” D’Artagnan told him. “But if you insist, you may come with me.” He turned to the others. “Quickly, now. Go as fast as you safely can. Do not endanger Brother Etienne, but try to get him to safety as soon as possible.”

  D’Artagnan and Porthos untied their horses and led them along the bank to the stream, where they mounted. Then they looked around to see where their pursuers were.

  “Look over there,” D’Artagnan whispered to Porthos. The two men and their sons were some way to the east and slightly ahead of them.

  “Keep close to the bank and ride south. When we get far enough ahead we can make some noise to attract them.”

  At the same time, Aramis and Athos took the monks on their horses with them, and they all rode quickly but quietly toward the north.

  D’Artagnan and Porthos neared the southern edge of the woods, leaving the men and their sons far enough behind that they could now exit the woods and ride east to distract them. When they reached the eastern edge they started to talk loudly, hoping to attract attention.

  “There they are,” D’Artagnan told Porthos. “We should talk to them to give the others time to get away.” He rode closer and hailed them. “You are the man that our monks stayed with, Monsieur Babineau, aren’t you?”

  The two groups rode closer to each other.

  “I am,” the other man said. “You are two of their entourage, I think. Where is the rest of your group?”

  “They are resting in the woods a ways back. Brother Etienne was feeling poorly, so we left them there and rode ahead to see what the land we’d be bringing them through looks like,” D’Artagnan told him. “But what are you doing here? You didn’t say you would be coming this way. You could have shown us the way.”

  Monsieur Babineau thought a moment, then said, “I did not expect to be coming this way, but circumstances changed and here we are. This is my son, and this is Monsieur Rousseau and his son. You said you left the others behind and came farther? Since we are returning to our homes, we may stop to make sure that all is well with them.”

  “That would be a kindness, Monsieur. I’m sure they would welcome the opportunity to thank you again for your hospitality,” D’Artagnan said. “We will go a little farther to see how much longer it will take us to get to the coast. Farewell.”

  The two groups separated and went their different ways.

  “I hope that the others have gotten far enough that we can cross before these men discover our deception,” Porthos said as they hurried to catch up to their friends.

  “If not, and they come after us, I’m sure we can protect ourselves and the rest,” D’Artagnan replied. “I would like to get there without any bloodshed, though. They are just farmers, not the ones sent to capture us.”

  “But why would they be coming after us if
they weren’t sent?”

  D’Artagnan sighed. “The cardinal is my master and I try to serve him well, but he has made enemies, and not just of the noble class. One of them could be family of one who felt mistreated by him.”

  “That could be,” said Porthos. “Though I am a Musketeer and work for the king--the late king--there have been times I felt less than love for the cardinal.”

  They rejoined their companions just as the monastery came into view in the distance. The group stopped and stared in awe for a moment before hurrying on.

  The sun was starting to lower to the west, its rays shining on the stone of the large building housing the monastery, making it look as if it belonged in Heaven. As it stood on the top of a small mount, it seemed very grand and tall with many windows and towers. Although they got only a glimpse, each of them was impressed with the majesty of the building.

  “We sent the men back to the south to search for you,” D’Artagnan told the monks. “But we should keep a lookout in case they see our ruse and come back this way.”

  “I’ll ride behind,” Montaigne said, stopping until the rest had ridden ahead a short way. “If I see them, I’ll use the signal.”

  D’Artagnan said, “If he signals us that they are coming, go as fast as you can. The rest of us will delay them however we must.”

  As they neared the causeway that led to the island, they heard the ‘twit-tu-whit’ of the signal from Montaigne.

  D’Artagnan and Porthos rode back to join Montaigne. They were sitting side-by-side when the men from the settlement approached.

  “Where have they gone?” demanded Monsieur Rousseau.

  “Of whom do you speak?” asked D’Artagnan calmly.

  “The monks, of course! I know that the tall one is Cardinal Richelieu and that King Gaston is looking for him.”

  D’Artagnan looked down. “Cardinal Richelieu is dead,” he said sadly. “The cowardly men of ‘King’ Gaston murdered him months ago. We are just escorting the two monks here to the monastery.”

  “Then why did you lie to us about their whereabouts? We would not harm innocent monks.”

  D’Artagnan smiled. “Because of his close resemblance to the cardinal, I suspected that someone might mistake Brother Etienne for him, although we are so far from Paris I thought it unlikely that anyone from here would have had the chance to see him. But, in case someone from your settlement had ever seen the cardinal, I didn’t trust any of you to listen to reason and believe the truth. Now, if you would turn and go back to your homes, you may do so safely. If you still refuse to believe the truth, be advised that the three of us are all very skilled with the sword, and, though we wish not to harm you, we will not let you harm our friends.”

  The two fathers spoke quietly to their sons. Then Monsieur Babineau said, “We would like proof of what you say. We still believe that monk is Cardinal Richelieu, and wish to speak to him.”

  “You had that chance last night,” Montaigne told him.

  “But it was not until this morning that my neighbor, Monsieur Rousseau, came to me with his suspicions.”

  “Yes,” Monsieur Rousseau broke in. “Some years ago I went to Paris with my family and saw him. Because of his treatment of my cousin, I have harbored resentment of him all this time. If this man is not the cardinal, I wish to hear it from him, himself, not be told by mercenaries.”

  D’Artagnan, Montaigne and Porthos spoke together quietly for a moment.

  “All we have to give you is our assurance that the real Cardinal Richelieu is dead and this is, at most, an imposter,” D’Artagnan said to them. “There will be no attempt to usurp the crown from this man. He does not want to overthrow the government. He just wants to live out his life with these monks at this monastery. Now please go back home.”

  The three swordsmen turned their horses and rode back to the north, toward the island with the monastery where their friends had gone.

  After the swordsmen had turned and left, the remaining men, younger and older, debated their next action.

  “I still believe that was Richelieu. I don’t care what that man said,” Monsieur Rousseau said. “We must go after him!”

  “How can you be sure? You got but a brief glimpse of him yesterday when they arrived.” Monsieur Babineau didn’t want to put himself and his son in danger, or waste the rest of the day just on the word of his friend.

  “I’m sure. If you don’t go with us, we’ll go alone. We must not let him get to safety.” Monsieur Rousseau was vehement about the situation.

  Because their community was small and every member was important to the whole, Babineau was loath to risk the Rousseaus' lives for nothing.

  “We’ll go with you, if you insist on going on a fool’s errand. The man stayed in our home. He didn’t act or speak like a cardinal of the church. Especially as you said he acted when you saw him before.”

  Rousseau said again, “I’m sure.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  D’

  Artagnan and the others caught up with the group on the shore, waiting for the tide to ebb.

  “As you can see,” Brother Xavier told him, “it would be impossible to cross now.”

  “Indeed,” replied D’Artagnan. “We must wait until it is almost gone and then we can cross. I don’t want to wait any longer, because, even though I assured those men that he is not Cardinal Richelieu, I’m not sure that they believed me.” He turned his horse around to face the way he had come. “If they didn’t, we may have to fight them unless we can get across before they catch up to us.”

  “We may not have to wait long,” Montaigne pointed out. “It seems to be ebbing now. As it lowers and reveals more of the causeway, we should follow the edge so that we may cross as quickly as we can.”

  “Gerard and Emile, you go first, since you have the monks with you. The rest of us will guard the rear.”

  Just as the two Musketeers and the two monks started toward the edge of the water, Montaigne saw the farmers and their sons hurrying toward them.

  “Go!” called Porthos as he turned and galloped after them. Just as he caught up with them, the last of the tide dropped and the causeway was clear.

  “Come!” he then called to D’Artagnan and Montaigne. “The way is clear now!”

  The remaining two turned, rushing to catch up.

  Not far behind, the farmers saw what was happening, and urged their horses on, so that eleven men were rushing across the causeway toward the island which housed the monastery of Saint Michael.

  “We must not let them escape us,” Monsieur Bellard called to his companions.

  They urged their horses faster. As they entered the causeway, the group ahead was at midpoint.

  Athos and Aramis reached the island first, a few steps ahead of the rest of their group. They hurried on, since they had to climb the winding road which led to the monastery atop the hill.

  The farmers were closing the distance between the two groups as they all dashed up the hill. At the top, at the building’s courtyard, they finally caught up.

  The commotion of so many horses climbing the hill and clattering onto the paved entryway, as well as the loud voices calling out, got the attention of several of the resident monks.

  When the monks saw what was happening at their front door, one of them ran to get the abbot. Fearing an invasion, the abbot brought armed guards with him to the door.

  “What is happening here?” Abbe’ Marcus asked the riders, who were milling about, shouting at each other.

  At the sight of the leader of the monastery, Brother Xavier slid from his place behind Athos and approached the abbot. The cardinal was barely conscious and was unable to walk, even with Brother Xavier’s help. Porthos carried him to where the abbot was standing.

  Brother Xavier knelt before the abbot, but Brother Etienne remained in Porthos’ arms, but with his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  The abbot looked from the monks before him to the group of men, still on horseback, milling farthe
r away.

  “Sirs! Is there something with which we can help you?”

  The rest of the entourage dismounted and knelt not far from the abbot, with Porthos, the cardinal, and Brother Xavier.

  Monsieur Babineau spoke up first. “Your Grace, these men are harboring a fugitive who must be returned to King Gaston.”

  “A fugitive? Who are you, and why have you come here?”

  Emboldened, the two farmers and their sons approached the abbot. Monsieur Rousseau pointed an accusing finger at Brother Etienne. “This man is Cardinal Richelieu, and he is hiding from justice.”

  The abbot looked at the monks and then at the accusers. Then he looked at the rest of the men.

  “Come inside, all of you. We will get to the truth, but not out here.”

  The abbot led the way into the building, leading them to a room with several chairs. He seated himself in a high-backed chair and motioned the others closer.

  “Your Grace, might Brother Etienne sit? He was injured and is not fully recovered yet,” Brother Xavier asked. At the abbot’s nod, Porthos placed the cardinal in a chair, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

  “Brother Etienne? These men,” he pointed toward the farmers, “say that he is Cardinal Richelieu. Is that true?”

  D’Artagnan stepped forward and said, “Your Grace, we have been accompanying this monk to this place to recover from injuries he suffered, but he is not the cardinal that these people are searching for. He does bear a resemblance to Cardinal Richelieu, though, so I can understand why they have mistaken him for the cardinal.”

  “Ah, I see.” The abbot looked at the farmers for a moment. “And you say you are certain he is the real Cardinal Richelieu?”

  “We are,” exclaimed Monsieur Rousseau.

  At that moment a man, who had been hiding inside a doorway hidden by the farmers and the rest of the men, sprang into their midst and stole a sword from the man nearest to him, which happened to be D’Artagnan.

  “Traitor!” he yelled as he ran toward the cardinal. “You banished my family and then had them followed and killed. You are an evil man!”