by Anthology
“I believe that you will have changed your mind within a week,” the cardinal said, benignly, as Clive passed through the door.
Clive had returned to his quarters but a short time before a messenger presented himself at the American’s door, and informed him that the king desired an audience with him immediately.
“Must be his gout again,” Clive murmured as he picked up his medical kit and followed the messenger. When he entered the apartment of the king, however, he found the latter pacing back and forth, with an occupied, and somewhat worried expression upon his face. Although he saw Clive enter the room, he made no sign of recognition, but continued his pacing as though he were trying to arrive at a weighty decision. Finally he turned to Clive:
“Do you have a remedy for a pain in the stomach?” he asked.
“What sort of pain?” asked Clive.
The king hesitated in another moment of indecision. “Perhaps you had better see her,” he said, as though he were speaking to himself. And then: “The queen claims to be stricken with a violent pain in her stomach, enough to make her quite ill. Of course, it can’t be very serious, but you know these women, they can’t stand the slightest pain.”
“Appendicitis!” This was the snap-diagnosis that immediately flashed into Clive’s mind. He felt like letting his majesty have a taste of a good right fist in the face—but he restrained himself.
“How long has this been going on?” Clive’s question was almost a demand. The king was somewhat alarmed by his attitude.
“Since yesterday, but it can’t be serious—can it?”
“It’s probably a matter of life and death,” said Clive. “We must act at once, so if you will lead the way, your highness, there may still be a chance of saving her.”
It was but the work of a moment to verify Clive’s original surmise, the queen had a bad case of appendicitis. For a moment a feeling of helplessness swept over the young doctor, he realized his own deficiencies in surgical training, and here he was called upon to handle the “hot” appendix of the one person that meant everything to him. For a moment he thought of transporting her through the caverns to the U.S., but immediately realized that to be impossible. He then thought of bringing a surgeon in, and though that was more feasible, the queen would probably not survive until he arrived.
Fortunately Clive had been expecting some such emergency, and had been training some assistants. He now took over a small room in the Louvre and after removing all furniture and tapestries, and scrubbing the room from top to bottom, he converted it to an operating room. When all preparations had been made he went to Anne’s chambers, and sending everyone from the room excepting his two assistants he spoke to her in English:
“Anne dear,” he said, “what I am about to do you will not understand but you must trust me, and believe that what I do is necessary to save your life.”
The queen did not speak, but her wan smile and the light squeeze she gave Clive’s hand spoke volume.
The operation was a success, the appendix had not yet ruptured and the queen progressed without complications. Clive, however, remained at her side constantly for the first twenty-four hours, and returned again as soon as he had snatched a few hours’ sleep. In the next few days Clive felt that he had reached the peak of happiness—to be allowed to remain with the queen without question was a new-found paradise, a dream from which he was rudely awakened one week after the operation.
Clive was leaving the queen’s chambers when he was accosted by one of the cardinal’s messengers.
“Monsieur Clive,” he said, “His Eminence the cardinal wishes to see you immediately.” Clive was about to tell him to let His Eminence jump in the lake, but he was so happy that he decided to humor Richelieu, and he followed the messenger to the apartments of the cardinal.
“You look very pleased with yourself, Monsieur,” said’ the cardinal. “I am glad to see that you have reconsidered my offer.”
“Who says I have reconsidered?” demanded Clive, his brow clouding with anger. “I told you I wanted no part in your schemes, and if that is all you brought me here for, I am ready to leave.”
“I am sorry you have taken that attitude again,” said the cardinal, “and in that case I must show you something very interesting.” He reached in his desk and brought out a small leather case.
“My camera!” exclaimed Clive.
“Oh, you know what this is then,” said the cardinal with mock surprise, “then you will understand what this is.” He handed a slip of paper to the American. Clive took the slip with a trembling hand for he could see that it was a photograph, and he realized the possibilities of his undoing at the hands of the cardinal. “How would you like me to explain to the king what this camera is, and show him that interesting photograph?” Richelieu asked the bewildered American.
The photograph showed Clive sitting at the side of the queen, the latter was sitting up in bed, and the two appeared to be about to embrace.
“Of course,” continued the cardinal, “I know that you are completely innocent, but what do you suppose the king will think? And you know that such an action is a crime punishable by death!”
It took several moments for the full realization of his situation to penetrate Clive’s mind. He had finally arrived at the situation from which he had so frequently planned his escape. His motorcycle was in a hiding place outside the Louvre and his revolver was at his side. He must fight his way out, and make his way to the caverns at Amiens. But first he must destroy the evidence the cardinal had against the queen. Clive quickly drew the revolver from its holster at his side, and warning His Eminence not to make a sound at the risk of his life, he stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth and then proceeded to tie him to his chair.
The cardinal’s worst enemy could not have called him a coward, but in common with everyone who knew of Clive’s revolver he was terrified by the sight of such a deadly weapon, and he permitted the American to bind him firmly without offering any resistance.
When His Eminence was securely bound Clive searched through his desk until he found the damning negative, which he burned along with the photograph, then retrieving his camera he left the room, walking as fast as he dared without attracting any attention. Arriving at his apartments he found Planchet, d’Artagnan’s lackey, waiting for him with a message from his master. Clive seized the envelope and tore it open, extracting the message.
“Amiens cut off!” it said. “Fly to the east.” It was signed d’A.
“Monsieur d’Artagnan said that you must leave immediately if you are to make good your escape,” said Planchet.
“How does d’Artagnan know I must flee?” he asked himself. “Why is Amiens cut off? Is the cardinal behind all this?” These were the thoughts that raced through Clive’s mind as he followed Planchet through the garden gate and the postern gate. They passed the house in which Clive had secreted his motorcycle, but Planchet urged the young doctor onward. After what seemed like miles of narrow, winding, filthy streets, Planchet, stepped into a doorway, and motioned Clive to follow him. The latter found himself in a small, squalid room which was nearly filled by the figures of the four musketeers and two motorcycles.
“D’Artagnan will accompany you,” said Athos when Clive had entered the room, “while Aramis and I will cover your retreat and keep you posted on developments in France. You must leave now as the roads to the east will soon be blocked.”
Clive opened his mouth as though to speak, but Athos cut him short: “D’Artagnan will explain as you arrive in safe territory,” said the latter. “But you must ride like fury if you wish to escape the Bastille.”
Clive recognized one of the motorcycles as his own, and mounting it he roared out of the building behind d’Artagnan. As they-approached the eastern entrance to Paris they found the road barricaded, and several of the cardinal’s guards stood before the barricade with muskets poised.
“Quick!” cried d’Artagnan, “find cover,” And leading the way he pulled his motorcycle in
to the ditch, at the side of the road. Clive followed, and once under cover, the two men unslung their rifles, and carefully started picking off the guards who were well within rifle range, but were not near enough to do any effective shooting with their muskets.
Seeing their companions fall the remaining guards quickly scattered for shelter, and as they scattered, Bazin, Mousqueton and Grimaud appeared from nowhere and proceeded to demolish the barricade, while the two fugitives covered them with their rifles. Waiting only until the lackeys had made good their escape after the road was clear, Clive and d’Artagnan hurriedly remounted, and were soon in open country.
“Monsieur,” said Clive, when they were once out of danger, “I am dying of curiosity—tell me how you knew the cardinal was about to gather me in.”
“It is very simple, Monsieur,” replied d’Artagnan. “The cardinal’s messenger stopped for a drink in a tavern in which our companions and I were having dinner. He was imprudent enough to provoke a quarrel with M. Porthos, or it was the other way around—but that is unimportant, and while Porthos was attending to him he lost, temporarily, His Eminence’s orders. When he recovered them they were no longer secret.”
The seriousness of his situation was just beginning to make itself known as Clive sped over the beautiful French countryside. His ace in the hole, the cavern at Amiens, which he had always counted upon to pull him out of any situation had been closed to him, and now he was riding even farther away. A feeling of helplessness swept over him, but he was not one to dwell long upon any chance misfortune, and he was soon evolving a plan. The two rode on, Clive deep in thought, and d’Artagnan signing a light-hearted song of his native southland.
As night was beginning to fall they arrived at the Swiss border. By this time Clive’s fame had spread over most of western Europe, and he was immediately recognized by the border guard who did not question his passage when Clive showed him the ring Louis XIII had given him.
Once they were well within Switzerland they slackened their pace, and began searching for a suitable inn. This they found without much difficulty, and they welcomed the rest, for they had had a long hard journey, and had fasted since breakfast. The excitement of the day had not dulled their appetites in any way, and when the food was brought they fell to with all the enthusiasm of youth. They were fairly satiated before they even ventured conversation.
“What are your plans now, Monsieur d’Artagnan?” asked Clive, finally.
“Plans? I have no plans—except to stay with you until our comrades can arrange for our safe return to France,” replied d’Artagnan.
“Well, I am in the process of giving birth to an idea,” said Clive, “and I will need your help, as well as the help of our friends back in Paris, to carry it out.”
Clive proceeded to unfold his plan. They were to send a message back to the three musketeers, requesting them to send on the expedition that had been organized to search for oil in eastern Europe. They were also to gather up all the books, instruments etc., and to bring together all the men Clive had been training—or as many of them as possible—and to send them on. They would go to Bohemia, and continue their studies, and building over there. They would wait until His Eminence committed an act of treason against the king, as Clive knew he eventually would, and would then step in with superior fighting equipment and depose the minister. Clive also hoped some day to institute a democratic form of government in France, but he didn’t mention these plans to d’Artagnan.
The latter approved of Clive’s plans, thinking that since they had to stay away from France anyhow, they might as well be occupied. They soon had located a messenger—a brother of one of the mechanics Clive was training, who for the opportunity of working for the great doctor was willing to risk his life. Clive wrote the message, and after giving the boy instructions on how to elude the cardinal’s men, sent him on to Paris in search of Athos.
In due time the various components of the expedition converged upon Berne, where Clive and d’Artagnan had taken temporary residence. They arrived singly or in pairs, all having taken different routes out of France. When finally they stopped coming, Clive learned that those not present had been won over by the force, if not by the gold of the cardinal, and were now engaged in turning out firearms for His Eminence. The drilling equipment arrived in peasant carts, covered by hay or vegetables to hide it from the prying eyes of the cardinalists. Once they were all assembled, they loaded the motorcycles on the carts and the strange caravan set out for Bohemia.
Richelieu lost no time getting the manufacture of arms and ammunition under way. These were limited, however, to revolvers and rifles, and to an awkward version of the modern French “75,” which he designed himself. Clive had never hinted that there was such a thing as a machine gun, a fact which the cardinal was soon to regret. In the months to follow he saw the king but little, and his persecutions of the queen, practically ceased. The king thought little of this lack of attention, in fact he was rather pleased to be free of the annoyances his minister was always causing. The queen, however, intuitively knew that this outward serenity was actually the calm before the storm, and she anticipated future developments with, a dread exceeded only by her loathing of the cardinal.
Soon after his arrival in Bohemia, Clive established communication with the queen—carrier pigeon and messenger at firsthand short wave radio later on. Due to his absorption in his plans, the cardinal had relaxed. his internal spy system somewhat, and Clive found it fairly easy to send one of his technicians into Paris with a short wave transmitter, which he set up in the apartment of Athos. By this method the American was able to keep in constant communication not only with the musketeers, but with the queen, and in this way followed the daily developments on the Paris front.
On his part, Clive had been welcomed into Bohemia practically with open arms, and when he, told the rulers of the Bohemians about the cardinal’s plans they immediately gave him all the resources of men and materials that he could wish for, and he soon had several machine shops in operation that were turning out guns and the machinery of war. Before long he was producing and refining oil, and his first gasoline motor was completed just about the same time that the first gasoline trickled out of the stills. He appropriated several ships of the navy, and set about refitting them, and equipping them with steam engines.
About the time Clive was beginning to feel he had everything well in hand he got an urgent call from Paris. It was the queen, she had slipped out of the Louvre incognito, as she had done so many times in the past few months, to speak with Clive by radio. This time, however, her voice clearly showed anxiety.
“I am worried about France and the king,” she said. “Monsieur le Cardinal is now openly insulting his majesty, and it is rumored that he has armed forces all over France ready to seize the kingdom as soon as His Eminence gives the command.”
“And what is the king doing about it?” asked Clive.
“Nothing, outwardly. He passes Richelieu’s insults off as jokes, when he is around, but when Louis is alone he flies into wild rages, and he seems to think you are the cause of his misfortunes—an obsession that the cardinal has encouraged.”
“And you my dear, what kind of treatment have you been receiving?” asked Clive. For a moment Anne didn’t answer, and then:
“The cardinal has been making demands of me,” she said.
“Demands!” cried Clive. “What sort of demands?”
“Demands which I could, not meet and continue to hold my head up as a lady,” she replied, “and he threatens all the things that I have feared for France if I don’t comply.”
“I have been afraid it would come to this,” said Clive. “We must get you out of France, at least until we can once again establish peace, and safety.”
“I had hoped you would say that.” Anne spoke as though a great burden had been lifted from her mind. “When may I start for Bohemia?”
“I am afraid Bohemia is out of the question,” said Clive, “as much as I would li
ke to have you with me. But our preparations are nearly complete here, and we will be leaving for France within a week. There is but one thing for you to do, and that is to go through the caverns, and let my people take care of you until I can come for you. It will take a lot of courage, Anne dear, courage that I know you have. Now listen carefully, for this is what you must do, but first, is Athos there?”
“He is guarding the front door,” she replied.
“He must hear this too, for we will need his help.” Soon Athos’ voice came through the loud speaker.
“I am ready, Monsieur Clive, to follow you and my queen anywhere,” he said.
“Good, I knew I could count on you.
“Now this is my plan: The queen is to slip out of the Louvre tomorrow at noon, she will meet you and the two of you will proceed to St. Cloud, and conceal yourselves in the chapel until I arrive.”
“But Monsieur, are you not in Bohemia?” asked the musketeer.
“Yes, but tomorrow I shall be in Paris,” answered Clive.
“You say you shall be here, so I shall expect you, but Mordieu, I wouldn’t believe it of the devil himself, when it takes at least three days on a motorcycle with good dry roads, and now the roads are wet and muddy.” In spite of his professions of faith, Athos was still dubious.
“But I shan’t need the roads,” said Clive, enjoying his friend’s confusion, “for I shall fly.”
“Are you sure you feel perfectly well, Monsieur?” asked the queen.
“Perfectly,” Clive laughed, “as you shall see tomorrow in the clearing behind the chapel at St. Cloud.” He was about to switch off when he had another thought. “You had better bring Porthos and Aramis along to help d’Artagnan with the guns I am bringing, and this will be a good opportunity to use the trailers I sent to you.” And then to Anne, he said: “You might leave a note for the king, and tell him that although I may be the cause of his present misfortunes, he shall see that I will be his salvation, politically. Until tomorrow then, good-by and good luck.”
