Between Two Kings

by Lawrence Ellsworth

  “Yes, Milord, in fact I was under the scaffold during his execution, where I, having been unable to redeem him, received on my forehead the blood of the martyred king. At the same time, I heard the last word of Charles I, for it was to me that he said, ‘Remember!’ And in saying ‘Remember,’ Milord, he was referring to the gold now at your feet.”

  “I have heard a great deal about you, Monsieur,” said Monck, “but I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet you for myself and not to judge you at second hand. I will give you explanations I’ve shared with no one else, so you’ll appreciate the distinction I make between you and those who’ve been sent to me before.”

  Athos bowed, eager to absorb the words about to fall from Monck’s mouth, as rare and precious as drops of dew in the desert.

  “You speak to me of King Charles II,” said Monck. “But tell me, I pray you, Monsieur, what does that shadow of a king mean to me? I have grown old in war and in politics, two things that, today, are so closely bound together that every man of the sword must fight for his rights and ambition on his own behalf, rather than blindly follow the orders of an officer, as in ordinary wars. For myself, I desire nothing, but I fear everything—for on the outcome of today’s war depends the freedom of England, and perhaps of every Englishman. Why, given the situation of free action I’ve made for myself, should I shackle myself to a stranger? For that’s all that Charles is to me.

  “Insofar as Charles has fought battles here and lost them, he’s a bad general; inasmuch as he’s failed in every negotiation, he’s a bad diplomat; and since he bemoans his misery in all the courts of Europe, he shows a character weak and cowardly. Nothing of nobility, nothing of leadership, nothing of strength has he shown, this genius who aspires to govern one of the greatest realms of the Earth.

  “So, I know this Charles only by his weaknesses; and you want me, a man of good sense, to go and freely enslave myself to this creature who is my inferior militarily, politically, and personally? No, Monsieur. Once some great and noble action has taught me to appreciate this Charles, I may recognize his rights to a throne that we removed from his father, because he lacked all those virtues that so far are also lacked by the son. But when it comes to rights, I recognize only my own; the revolution made me a general, and if I desire it, my sword will make me the Protector. Let Charles show us what he’s made of, let him present himself fairly, let him enter the competition that is open to genius, and most of all let him remember that he comes of a race of which we will ask more than of any other. Monsieur, we need speak no more of this; as for me, I neither refuse nor accept. I watch, and I wait.”

  Athos knew that Monck was so well informed about everything relating to Charles II that there was no point to further argument—this was neither the time nor place for it. “Milord,” he said, “it’s only left for me to thank you.”

  “For what, Monsieur? Because you judged my character well and were proven right? Is that worthy of thanks? That gold you take to King Charles will serve to test him for me; once I see what he does with it, that may give me a new opinion.”

  “Isn’t Your Honor concerned he might compromise himself by allowing such a sum to reach the hands of his enemy?”

  “My enemy, you say? Why, Monsieur, I don’t have any enemies. I am in service to Parliament, which orders me to fight General Lambert and King Charles—their enemies, not mine—and so I fight them. If the Parliament, on the contrary, ordered me to fly my flag in the port of London, to assemble my soldiers on the riverbank to receive King Charles II…”

  “You would obey?” Athos gasped.

  “Forgive me,” said Monck, smiling. “Here I am, with a head of gray hair, about to speak childish nonsense. Where is my mind?”

  “So, you wouldn’t obey?” said Athos.

  “I didn’t say that either, Monsieur. The good of my country comes before everything else. God, who had a reason for giving me strength, probably wanted me to use that strength for the good of all; at least I think so, for he also made me perceptive. If the Parliament ordered me to do that, I… would consider.”

  Athos frowned. “I see, then,” he said, “that Your Honor definitely isn’t disposed to favor King Charles II.”

  “Always you question me, Monsieur le Comte. Now it’s my turn, if you please.”

  “Do so, Monsieur, and may God inspire you to reply as honestly as I shall!”

  “When you have brought this million back to your prince, what will you advise him to do?”

  Athos fixed Monck with a look both proud and resolute. “Milord,” he said, “while others might advise using that million as a lever in negotiations, I’d tell the king to raise two regiments with it, bring them into Scotland, which you have just pacified, and give the people those freedoms that the revolution had promised but has not delivered. I would advise him to command this little army in person—and it would grow, believe me—and then to die, flag in hand and sword in its sheath, saying, ‘Englishmen! Here is the third of my race whom you’d kill: beware of the justice of God!’ ”

  Monck lowered his head and thought for a moment. “If he succeeded,” he said, “which is unlikely, though not impossible, for everything is possible in this world, what would you counsel then?”

  “To think that by the will of God he had lost his crown, but by the goodwill of men he regained it.”

  An ironic smile touched Monck’s lips. “Unfortunately, Monsieur,” he said, “kings rarely listen to good advice.”

  “Ah, but Milord, Charles II is no king,” replied Athos, smiling in his turn, albeit with a different expression than Monck’s.

  “Come, let’s end this, Monsieur le Comte. We’ve said enough, haven’t we?”

  Athos bowed.

  “I’ll give the order to have you and your two barrels taken wherever you like. Where are you staying, Monsieur?”

  “In a little village at the mouth of the river, Your Honor.”

  “I know this village; it’s composed of no more than five or six houses, is it not?”

  “That’s it; I’ve taken the largest, which I’m sharing with a couple of fishnet knotters. It’s their boat that brought me here.”

  “But you have a vessel of your own, Monsieur?”

  “Mine is anchored a quarter of a mile offshore, where it awaits me.”

  “But you don’t intend to leave immediately?”

  “Milord, I hope to try one more time to convince Your Honor.”

  “You won’t succeed,” replied Monck, “but it’s important for you to leave Newcastle without your passage raising the least suspicion toward either of us. My officers think that Lambert will attack me tomorrow. I, on the contrary, think he won’t make a move; in my eyes it seems impossible. Lambert commands an army without a common cause, and that’s no army at all. I have told my soldiers to consider my authority subordinate to a superior authority, so that after me, around me, or above me, they still have something to follow. The result is that, if I die, my army won’t be immediately demoralized, and even if, for example, I decided to leave the camp for a while, as I sometimes do, there wouldn’t be in my troops the least shadow of anxiety or disorder. Today I am the great magnet that draws together all the natural and sympathetic forces of the English. All this scattered iron that’s sent against me, I will draw it together.

  “At this moment Lambert’s command consists of eighteen thousand deserters—though I didn’t share that number with my officers, as you can well imagine. Nothing is more useful to an army than the feeling of imminent battle; everyone is careful, everyone is alert. I tell you this so you can rest assured that you can stay nearby safely. A week from now, there will be a new situation, either from battle or negotiation. At that time, because you’ve judged me to be an honest man, and confided to me your secret—and I must thank you for your confidence—I’ll either visit you or send for you. I sincerely ask you not to leave until we’ve spoken again.”

  “I so swear, General!” cried Athos, so transported by joy that, de
spite his natural reserve, he couldn’t suppress a sparkle in his eye.

  Monck spotted this flash, and immediately stifled one of those mute smiles that passed across his lips when he saw that someone believed they’d divined what he was thinking.

  “So, Milord,” said Athos, “a week will be the extent of our delay?”

  “One week, yes, Monsieur.”

  “And during this week, what shall I do?”

  “If there’s a battle, keep out of it, I pray you. I know you French are curious about these kinds of amusements, and you’d like to assess our manner of fighting, but you’d just catch a stray bullet. Our Scots are terrible marksmen, and I’d hate to see a worthy gentleman like you return wounded to France. I don’t want to have to be responsible for sending your million on to your prince for you, for that would look like I was paying the pretender to wage war on the Parliament, and with some justification. Go then, Monsieur, stay low, and keep to what’s agreed between us.”

  “Ah, Milord!” said Athos. “What joy it would be to be the first to penetrate to that noble heart that beats beneath your cloak.”

  “So, you believe that I keep secrets,” said Monck, without changing the half-wry expression on his face. “Why, Monsieur, what secrets do you think could be kept in the hollow head of a soldier? But it’s getting late, and our lantern is burning down; time to call our man. Holà!” cried Monck in French, approaching the foot of the stairs. “Holà! Fisherman!”

  The fisherman, numbed by the night’s chill, replied in a hoarse voice asking what was wanted.

  “Go to the sentry post,” said Monck, “and order the sergeant there, on the behalf of General Monck, to come here at once.”

  This was an easy commission to fulfill, for the sergeant, intrigued by the presence of the general in this deserted abbey, had slowly followed, coming little by little until he was only a few steps from the fisherman. Thus, the general’s order reached him directly and he hurried to comply.

  “Get a horse and two men,” said Monck.

  “A horse and two men?” repeated the sergeant.

  “Yes,” Monck replied. “Can you get a packhorse with two paniers?”

  “Sure, no more than a hundred paces from here in the Scottish camp.”

  “Good.”

  “What do I do with the horse, General?”

  “Look here.”

  The sergeant came down the three or four steps that separated him from Monck and appeared in the vault. “Do you see, there by that gentleman?” Monck said to him.

  “Yes, General.”

  “You see those two barrels?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “These two barrels contain, one of them powder, the other musket balls. I want you to have these barrels taken to the little village at the mouth of the river, which I intend to garrison with two hundred muskets. You understand that this mission is secret, because this is a flanking movement that could decide the battle.”

  “Oh! Yes, General,” murmured the sergeant.

  “Good! So, tie these two barrels on the horse, and then you and the two men are to escort this gentleman, who is my friend, to his house. But, you understand, without attracting attention.”

  “I’d go through the marsh if I only knew a way,” said the sergeant.

  “I know one,” said Athos. “It’s narrow but it’s solid, as it’s laid over piles. If we’re careful, we can manage it.”

  “Do what this cavalier tells you to,” said Monck.

  “Whoa! These barrels are heavy,” said the sergeant, trying to lift one.

  “About four hundred pounds each, if they contain what they should, eh, Monsieur?”

  “More or less,” said Athos.

  The sergeant went to find the two men and the horse. Monck, left alone with Athos, seemed inclined to make only small talk, while distractedly examining the vault. Then, hearing the hooves of the horse, he said, “I’ll leave you with your men, Monsieur, and return to the camp. You should be safe.”

  “I can count on seeing you again, Milord?” asked Athos.

  “So I’ve said, Monsieur, and it will be my great pleasure.” Monck held out his hand to Athos.

  “Oh, Milord, if only you would!” murmured Athos.

  “Hush, Monsieur!” said Monck. “We agreed to say no more about it.”

  And, saluting Athos, he went up, passing the men on the stairs who were coming down. He’d gone no more than twenty paces outside the abbey when he heard a long, low whistle. Monck cocked an ear but, seeing nothing, continued on his way. Then he remembered the fisherman and looked around for him, but the fisherman had disappeared. However, if he’d looked a bit more closely, he’d have seen his man bent over double, slipping like a snake along the stones and losing himself in the mist, skimming along the surface of the marsh. And if he could have seen through the mist, he’d have seen something else that would have attracted his attention, which was that the masts of the fishermen’s boat showed it had moved closer in to the river bank.

  But Monck saw nothing and, thinking he had nothing to fear, took the deserted causeway that led to the camp. It was as he did so that the disappearance of the fisherman struck him as strange, and he began to have serious suspicions. He had just placed at Athos’s orders the only soldiers who were near enough to protect him, and he had nearly a mile to cross to return to camp.

  The fog rose and thickened, so that one could barely distinguish objects at a distance of ten paces. Monck thought he heard a sound like the beat of an oar echoing from the swamp on his right. “Who’s there?” he shouted.

  But no one answered. Then he cocked his pistol, took his dirk in hand, and hurried on without another word. Calling for help, when there was no urgent reason to do so, seemed to him to be beneath him.

  XXVII The Next Day

  It was seven in the morning: the first light of day glanced from the pools in the marsh, the sun reflected in them like a crimson ball, when Athos, getting up and opening his bedroom window, which looked out on the riverbank, saw not fifteen paces away the sergeant and men who’d escorted him the day before, and who, after leaving the barrels at his house, had returned to the camp by the causeway.

  Why, having returned to camp, had the men come back again? That was the question that suddenly occupied Athos’s mind.

  The sergeant, head up and alert, seemed to have been waiting for the moment the gentleman would appear to question him. Athos, surprised to find before him those he’d seen departing the day before, was unable to conceal his astonishment.

  “There’s no reason for surprise, Sir,” said the sergeant. “Yesterday the general ordered me to watch over your safety, and I’m obeying that order.”

  “The general is in camp?” asked Athos.

  “Doubtless, Sir, since you left him yesterday going there.”

  “Very well! Wait a moment and I’ll go there to give an account of your loyal service, and to recover my sword, which I left yesterday on the table.”

  “That suits us perfectly,” said the sergeant, “for we were going to ask you to do that.”

  Athos thought he noticed a sardonic edge to the sergeant’s expression, but the adventure in the vault might have excited the man’s curiosity, in which case it was no surprise to read on his face the ideas disturbing his mind. Athos shut all the doors firmly and gave the keys to Grimaud, who had taken up residence in the shed over the locked door to the cellar where the barrels were stored.

  The sergeant escorted the Comte de La Fère to the gates of the camp. There, a new guard squad awaited and took over for the four men who’d accompanied Athos thus far. This new guard was commanded by Aide-de-Camp Digby, who, during their walk, regarded Athos with such baleful looks that the Frenchman wondered what he’d done to deserve them, when the day before he’d been so perfectly respectful.

  He continued on his way toward headquarters while keeping to himself his observations about his escort and situation. Inside the general’s tent, where he’d been taken the day befor
e, he found three superior officers, Monck’s lieutenant commander and two colonels. Athos saw that his sword was still on the general’s table, where he’d left it the day before.

  None of these officers had seen Athos before, and therefore didn’t know him. Monck’s lieutenant commander asked, indicating Athos, if this was the gentleman with whom Monck had left the tent.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” said the sergeant, “the very same.”

  “I never denied it,” said Athos haughtily. “And now, it seems to me, Gentlemen, it’s my turn to ask you the point of all these questions, especially the tone in which they’re asked.”

  “Monsieur,” said the lieutenant commander, “if we address these questions to you, it’s because we have the right to do so, and if we do so in such a tone, it’s because that tone, believe me, is appropriate to the situation.”

  “Gentlemen,” said Athos, “you don’t know me, but I must tell you that I recognize no one here as my equal except General Monck. Where is he? Let me be taken before him, and if he has any questions to ask me, I’ll answer them, and to his satisfaction, I hope. I repeat, Gentlemen: where is the general?”

  “God’s death! You’d know better than we where he is,” said the lieutenant.

  “Me?”

  “That’s right, you.”

  “Sir, I don’t understand you,” said Athos.

  “You will understand me—but first of all, for God’s sake, Monsieur, keep your voice down. Now, what did you talk about with the general yesterday?”

  Athos smiled disdainfully.

  “We don’t want your smiles,” said one of the colonels angrily, “we want answers.”

  “And I, Gentlemen, declare that you’ll get no response unless it’s in the presence of the general.”

  “But you’re well aware that you’re asking the impossible,” said the same colonel.

  “That’s the second time you’ve responded strangely to my request,” said Athos. “Is the general gone?”

  Athos’s question was asked in such obvious good faith, and with such an air of naïve surprise, that the three officers exchanged glances. The lieutenant commander spoke by tacit agreement of the two other officers. “Monsieur,” he said, “the general left you yesterday on the outskirts of the abbey?”