by Pierre Pevel
‘Let her,’ La Fargue said to him in a toneless voice. He stood in the doorway to the garden. ‘Let her leave.’
The musketeer hesitated, cursed, and went after Agnès anyway.
He joined her in the courtyard, where she was already mounting her horse.
‘Agnès!’
She looked at him patiently, both hands together on the pommel of her saddle.
But he couldn’t find anything to say to her:
‘Agnès, I …’
She gave him a sad, tender smile.
‘Goodbye, Antoine. Take care of Nicolas, will you? And tell the captain that I don’t blame him for anything.’
Then she turned her mount around, urged it forward slightly with her heels, and rode away at a slow jog.
Leprat stood alone in the courtyard for a moment, underneath the blazing sun. Finally, when he decided to go back inside, he passed La Fargue coming down the steps with a determined air.
‘Where are you going, captain?’
The old gentleman did not stop.
‘To speak with La Donna,’ he replied. ‘This comedy of secrets has lasted long enough.’
‘But she’s being held under guard at the Palais-Cardinal for her safety!’ Leprat warned him as La Fargue crossed the courtyard. ‘They won’t let you anywhere near her!’
‘Then they will have to kill me,’ said the captain, without turning or slowing down.
In the park at the Palais-Cardinal, Alessandra was reading near the fountain. She was sitting in the shade, on a bench, and seemed completely oblivious to the presence of ten of the Cardinal’s Guards who, stationed all around the park with rapiers at their sides and short muskets over the shoulders, watched over her. Charybdis and Scylla, her twin dragonnets, were drowsing to either side of the ravishing spy. They lifted their heads and gazed in the same direction moments before the first sounds of an argument attracted her attention.
On one of the garden paths, two sentries in red capes had stopped La Fargue. The discussion between them grew heated. Although the Blades’ captain had privileged access to the Palais-Cardinal, in this case His Eminence’s instructions had been quite explicit: no one was to see La Donna, not without an express order signed by the cardinal himself. But La Fargue would not hear of it. The altercation was starting to become a scuffle.
Alessandra rose with the intention of intervening before things degenerated:
‘Messieurs!’
But the guards held her back and, deaf to her protests, they were quick to remove her from the possible threat, not handling her too gently in the process, which upset her dragonnets.
‘Scylla! Charybdis! Be still!’ La Donna ordered her small domestic reptiles.
They immediately obeyed her, ceasing to growl and flutter about as La Fargue was knocked out by the butt of a musket.
It did not take La Fargue long to come round, with a terrible headache.
He was lying on a bench, with La Donna applying a damp cloth to his brow.
‘That was very stupid of you,’ she said, when she saw that he had regained consciousness.
‘I needed to speak with you.’
‘All the same.’
‘I achieved my goal, didn’t I?’
‘Because you planned to get your skull cracked open in order to see me?’ she asked ironically.
La Fargue sat up and pressed the cool cloth to the back of his head.
‘No,’ he admitted reluctantly.
‘They could have killed you.’
‘Bah!’ He looked around the elegant antechamber in which he found himself. ‘Where are we?’
‘We’re still at the Palais-Cardinal,’ replied the beautiful spy as she poured two glasses of white wine. ‘In the chambers where I am staying … There was some talk of throwing you into a cell, but I prevailed upon monsieur de Neuvelle to entrust you to my custody instead, while they decide your fate. Nevertheless, you are officially under arrest on the grounds of attempting to stun one guard using the head of another. That was very bad behaviour.’
‘Neuvelle?’ enquired La Fargue, grimacing painfully.
‘He is the young ensign commanding the detachment that is … that is holding me.’
‘That is protecting you.’
‘Yes. That, too.’
Alessandra returned to sit next to La Fargue and handed him a glass. Feeling suddenly tired, the old captain removed the damp cloth from his head, spread it across his thigh, took the glass, and thanked her.
‘Really very stupid,’ said La Donna by way of a toast.
They drank a sip of white wine together and then fell silent for a moment. Birdsong came through the open window, from the feathered creatures perched in the trees out in the park.
‘We buried Ballardieu this morning,’ La Fargue said, watching the yellow reflections of wine in the cut glass.
‘I … I didn’t know.’
‘Less than three weeks after Almades …’
‘I’m sorry. Sincerely.’
‘They were good, brave men. Neither of them deserved to die as they did … And another may fall tomorrow. It could be Laincourt, Marciac, or Leprat. It could be me … Don’t you think we’ve earned a few answers?’ he concluded, locking his gaze on La Donna’s.
Affected by his argument, she rose and went to the window.
Then she returned to La Fargue, stared at him a few seconds, and nodded curtly.
‘Thank you, madame,’ said the captain of the Blades, rising in his turn. ‘Let’s start with you, shall we? The Guardians told me you serve them, just as I do.’
‘That’s true.’
‘But you also serve the Pope.’
‘Just as you also serve the cardinal. However, I work on occasion for my own benefit, unlike you. But one needs to earn a living, doesn’t one?’
La Fargue did not reply to that.
‘If I remember correctly,’ he continued, ‘you once gave me a hint of your allegiance to the Seven …’
‘That evening at La Renardière, yes. Before everything started to move so quickly.’
‘You mean: before you almost got me killed, and my men along with me, at the hands of the dracs pursuing you.’
‘I was desperate, captain. I absolutely needed someone to rid me of those dracs and, above all, their sorcerer. I used you, to be sure. But it was for the common good, believe me. At the time I had information that urgently needed to be transmitted to the Pope and the Guardians.’ Looking nervous, Alessandra drained her glass. She gave herself time to recover her calm. ‘Besides, I don’t think I was totally ungrateful for your assistance. Without me, would you have captured the Alchemist?’
‘Precisely! So who was the Alchemist, exactly? And what goal was he pursuing? I no longer believe his aim was simply to abduct the queen. I also no longer believe he was acting alone.’
The beautiful Italian lady looked at La Fargue for a long moment, during which she reflected. Then, her decision made, she asked:
‘What do you know of the Arcana, captain?’
Caught unprepared, he had no reply. So she led him into the adjoining room.
‘Come.’
La Fargue followed Alessandra into her chamber.
There was a large cage next to the four-poster bed. The dragonnets inside stirred as soon as they saw their mistress enter, but she did not pay them the least attention. Consequently, Charybdis and Scylla watched the Blades’ captain with a jealous eye.
‘Look,’ said La Donna, pointing at a small round table.
There were a number of illustrated tarot cards on it, next to a quill and an inkwell. Most of the cards were annotated, covered in strange inscriptions, and sometimes they were even crossed out. La Fargue leaned forward to look at them. They were splendid and bore evocative names, but he did not recognise any of them.
‘These twenty-two cards form the major arcana of a tarot deck,’ explained Alessandra. ‘This one is a draconic tarot, however.’
The captain’s gaze continued to run ov
er the cards.
The Weaver, he read. The Gentleman Lover, the Protectress, the Blind Illuminator, the Astrologer …
‘This tarot is employed in sorcery.’
… the Crowned Heresiarch, the Architect, the Forgetful Thief …
‘It is primarily used for divination, of course. But there is more to it than that.’
… the Master-at-Arms, the Demoiselle in the Tower, the Assassin, the Immobile Pilgrim …
‘But there are other reasons why these arcana cards interest us. Or these “blades”, as they are still sometimes called.’
… the Alchemist of the Shadows!
‘What does this mean?’ asked La Fargue, placing his index finger on this last card.
‘The Arcana are a lodge within the Black Claw,’ explained La Donna. ‘All of them are dragons and each member takes his nom de guerre from one of the major arcanum of the draconic tarot. The Alchemist was one of them, as was the dragon who abducted me and whom you fought to rescue me.’
‘And which one was he?’
‘The Illuminator.’
‘So, he was this one,’ said the captain, pointing to the card of the Blind Illuminator on the table.
He noticed that it was crossed out.
‘Yes,’ replied Alessandra as La Fargue examined the spread cards again.
‘If there are twenty-two major arcana, does that mean that—’
‘—that the Arcana lodge has that many members? I think so. But truth be told, I don’t really know. And even if there were only ten of them …’
‘But who are they, exactly?’
‘Most of them are last-born dragons. They are ambitious, capable, prudent, determined and quite formidable. They are a force apart from the other lodges of the Black Claw. I suppose they are accountable to the Grand Lodge, but they enjoy a great deal of freedom. In fact, I think they only really obey themselves.’
‘That does not sound like the way the Black Claw usually operates.’
‘That’s true. But the Arcana are most likely protected by their successes.’
‘What successes?’
‘I know that the rich and powerful always take the credit. Nevertheless, it would seem that the Arcana have been involved to a greater or lesser extent in the worst tragedies and reverses France has suffered recently.’
‘Such as the failure of the siege of La Rochelle,’ said La Fargue bitterly.
‘Yes. Or the assassination of King Henri.’
Flabbergasted, the old captain stared at La Donna. The notion that she might be jesting crossed his mind, but the beautiful Alessandra’s face remained as if carved in marble.
‘The Arcana are in great danger,’ announced the Heresiarch turning away from the window in the Swords study. ‘The old masters of the Black Claw, who have never loved us much, are no longer willing to tolerate us. Our enemies are strong and numerous. They seek to bring about our downfall within the next month …’
As the Gentleman said nothing in reply, he added:
‘The Council of the Grand Lodge will make a decision on this soon, but through my spies I know the matter is already settled. Our lodge will be dissolved. And if we do not submit to their ruling we will be condemned and hunted down without hope of clemency.’
Dressed as a gentleman with taste but without ostentation, the master of the Arcana looked about fifty years in age. His features were bony and severe, with prominent cheekbones, hollow cheeks, and a thin straight nose. He had a perfectly trimmed moustache and goatee. And he exuded an air of confidence and authority.
‘Is it really that serious?’ asked the Gentleman.
‘Yes,’ affirmed the Heresiarch gravely.
‘The Arcana have already survived a number of cabals. Why can’t we foil this one?’
‘We were united then. Today, the Protectress and the Master-at-Arms plot against me and divide us. Have they not tried to approach you?’
‘No.’
‘Really? Perhaps the Enchantress, then?’
‘Do you doubt our loyalty, Heresiarch?’ the Gentleman asked coldly, feeling anger rise within him.
The two dragons stared at each other.
Narrowing his eyes, the Heresiarch scrutinised the Gentleman, while the latter seemed to challenge him to elaborate on his suspicions. Neither of them blinked, and finally the Heresiarch said:
‘No, no, of course not … But I know that the Protectress was meeting secretly with the Alchemist, and that she had won him over to her cause.’
‘I doubt that very much. The Alchemist was loyal to you—’
The master of the Arcana cut him short with a gesture of annoyance, much as one would wave away a buzzing insect …
The Gentleman fell silent and waited. The Heresiarch’s unexpected arrival had taken him by surprise and, since then, the behaviour of the leader of the Arcana had frequently been disconcerting. He was suspicious, sometimes irritable, and alternated between sudden silences and brusque manifestations of arrogance. At first, the Gentleman had only wished to see the signs of a great fatigue. Now he was beginning to revise his opinion, suspecting something far more serious. The Enchantress, on the other hand, had immediately evoked the image of a house where just a few cracks in the façade presage an imminent collapse.
The Heresiarch took down a rapier that was prominently displayed, examined it, and said:
‘Splendid. Made in Toledo, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘The best.’
‘It’s the temper of Toledo blades that is so excellent,’ replied the Gentleman as if by rote. ‘But I prefer Bohemian blades.’
The master of the Arcana pulled a slight face and replaced the sword. He let a moment of silence pass and then said in an even voice:
‘One must grant her this much, the Protectress has very ably and very patiently woven her web. That should come as no surprise, however. The cursed Gorgon has always been opposed to the Grand Design and she has long nourished the dream of deposing me and taking my place …’
The Gentleman nodded.
‘She is in Madrid, did you know that?’ continued the Heresiarch in a casual tone. ‘At this very moment, the Protectress is in Madrid to court the old lizards in the Grand Lodge, trying to convince them that she is better able to lead the Arcana and that the Black Claw would have less reason to complain if—’ He did not finish. ‘And all of this on the pretext of saving the Arcana from an abyss I am about to push them into!’ He gave a brief burst of laughter that did not fool the Gentleman. ‘An abyss,’ he repeated bitterly. ‘But what would become of the Arcana if the Protectress led them? Hmm? What would become of them?’
The Heresiarch’s gaze took on a strange fixed stare and he added almost in a whisper:
‘I would almost prefer the abyss …’
Once again, the Gentleman kept silent.
The other dragon slowly returned from the limbo where his obsession had taken him.
‘The Guardians are plotting against us,’ he said. ‘The Chatelaines are hunting us, the Black Claw is abandoning us, and some of our own are betraying us. There is no more time for intrigue: if we wish to live, we must take our enemies by surprise. Will you be at my side, Gentleman?’
‘I will be.’
‘And do you answer for the Enchantress?’
‘As I do for myself.’
‘Then I will have a task for you, soon.’
‘And right now?’
‘Right now, we must prepare our triumph. I have not renounced our Grand Design. It would have been accomplished long ago if not for these cursed Chatelaines, but I believe it is still possible to bring it to fulfilment before it is too late. And since a ruse did not work for the Alchemist, we will resort to more … radical methods.’
In the chambers that Alessandra occupied at the Palais-Cardinal, La Fargue tried to take stock of the beautiful Italian spy’s revelations.
King Henri IV had been assassinated on 14 May 1610, the day after the coronation of Marie de Médicis as q
ueen of France, just when he was preparing to go to war with Spain. He had been stabbed by a Catholic fanatic named Ravaillac and – even if the Black Claw had been suspected for a time – the investigation had concluded that it was the isolated act of a madman. But could it be that the Arcana had armed and guided Ravaillac’s hand? Could it be that in doing so they had spared Spain from a conflict she was poorly prepared for, and all of Europe had been dreading? The queen had been notoriously opposed to this war, and it had also displeased the Pope. Upon becoming regent of France, after her husband’s death, she had immediately renounced the project. In fact, negotiations had quickly resumed between the two countries, which ultimately led to marriage between the young Louis XIII and the Spanish infanta.
‘Don’t ask me for proof, captain,’ said Alessandra as if she was following the thread of his thoughts. ‘The Guardians only arrived at this conclusion after careful research and patient deductions. And a few extrapolations, it is true.’
‘Who else knows?’
‘Who else suspects the existence of the Arcana and their schemes, do you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘The Guardians, first of all. The Pope and the Chatelaines. The cardinal, for a short while now.’
‘And you.’
‘And me. But before you reproach me for not telling you all this earlier, you should first know that my information is recent. Moreover, for everything that concerns the Arcana, I obey the Seven in every detail and they alone decide what I am permitted to reveal to anyone.’
‘You just told me that cardinal has only known this for a short while.’
‘It’s true.’
‘Did his knowledge come from the Guardians?’
‘For the most part.’
‘So, what made the Guardians decide to inform him? Why now, rather than yesterday or tomorrow?’
Alessandra reflected, admiring the old captain’s sagacity.
‘The Arcana have been devoted, for years, to an important project they call the “Grand Design”. The Guardians know nothing – or at least feign to know nothing – of this Grand Design. Perhaps the Chatelaines know a little more … Be that as it may, the Grand Design is on the point of being accomplished. My belief is that the Alchemist was working on it when you captured him. And I would add that I believe he was probably killed because of the things he could reveal about it.’
