Between Two Kings

by Lawrence Ellsworth

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And you went…?”

  “It’s not for me to answer that, it’s up to those who escorted me. They’re your soldiers, question them.”

  “But if it pleases us to question you?”

  “Then it will please me to answer you, Sir, that I don’t know anyone here, I know only the general, and it’s to him that I’ll respond.”

  “Perhaps, Monsieur, but we are in charge, we’re set up as a council of war, and when you stand before judges, you must answer them.”

  To this the face of Athos expressed only surprise and disdain, rather than the fear the officers expected their threat to evoke. “Scottish or Englishmen to judge me, a subject of the King of France—me, here under the safeguard and protection of British honor!” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s madness, Gentlemen.”

  The officers looked at him. “Then, Monsieur,” said the leader, “you pretend not to know where the general is?”

  “As to that, Sir, I already said so.”

  “Yes, but that answer just isn’t believable.”

  “It’s nonetheless true, Sir. People of my rank don’t usually lie. I’m a gentleman, as I told you, and when I wear at my side the sword that, through an excess of delicacy, I left last night on that table where it still is today, no one, believe me, tells me anything I deem unworthy to hear. However, today I’m disarmed; if you claim to be my judges, then judge me. But if you’re merely executioners, then kill me.”

  “Oh, really, Monsieur,” said the lieutenant in a more courteous voice, struck by Athos’s grandeur and self-possession.

  “Sir, I came here to speak confidentially with your general on matters of importance. He received me with no ordinary welcome, as your soldiers can convincingly report. If your general gave me such a welcome, it’s because he knew I was worthy of his esteem. So, don’t suppose I’m going to reveal my secrets to you, let alone his.”

  “But those barrels, what do they contain?”

  “Haven’t you asked your soldiers that? What did they tell you?”

  “That they contained powder and shot.”

  “And where did they get that information? They must have told you.”

  “From the general; but we’re not fools.”

  “Take care, Sir, for it’s not me you’re calling a liar, it’s your commander.”

  The officers looked at each other again. Athos continued, “In front of your soldiers, the general asked me to wait a week for him, that in one week he’d have an answer for what I’d asked him. Should I have left? No, I’m here and I wait.”

  “He told you to wait for a week!” said the lieutenant.

  “He said that, Sir, though he knew I had a sloop at anchor outside the river mouth and could have embarked on it yesterday and sailed away. Now, if I’m still here, it’s solely to conform to the general’s wishes. His Honor advised me not to leave until he’d given me a final audience at the end of a week. So, I tell you again, I’m waiting.”

  The lieutenant commander turned to the other two officers and said, in a low voice, “If that gentleman is right, there’s reason to hope. The general has sometimes conducted negotiations so secret he thought it unwise to warn even us. If so, then the outside limit of his absence will be a week.”

  Then, turning to Athos, “Monsieur,” he said, “your statement is of the gravest importance; will you repeat it under oath?”

  “Sir,” replied Athos, “I have always lived in a world in which my word is regarded as a sacred oath already.”

  “However, this time, Monsieur, the circumstances are more serious than any in which you’ve previously found yourself. This involves the security of an entire army. Consider: the general has disappeared, so we must search for him. Was the disappearance natural? Was some crime committed? Should we pursue our investigations, no matter what, or should we wait patiently? At this point, Monsieur, everything depends on what you have to say to us.”

  “Asked in that way, Sir, I don’t hesitate to reply,” said Athos. “Yes, I had come to speak confidentially with General Monck to ask him for a response relating to certain interests. Yes, the general, being unable, no doubt, to provide an answer in advance of the expected battle, asked me to wait a week longer in the house where I was lodging, promising me that in a week he would see me again. Yes, all of the foregoing is true, as I swear by God, who is the absolute master of my life and yours.”

  Athos pronounced these words with such solemnity and majesty that the three officers were nearly convinced. However, one of the colonels made a final attempt: “Monsieur,” he said, “though we’re now persuaded of the truth of what you say, there’s still a strange mystery in all this. The general is too prudent a man to abandon his army on the eve of battle without giving at least one of us a warning. As for me, I admit I can’t help but believe that some strange event is behind his disappearance. Yesterday, some foreign fishermen came to sell us their fish, and were lodged with the Scots near the road used by the general to go to the abbey with monsieur and then to return. It was one of those fishermen who lit the general’s way with a lantern. In the morning, boat and fishermen had both disappeared, carried away on the midnight tide.”

  “I don’t see anything unnatural in that,” said the lieutenant. “After all, those people weren’t prisoners.”

  “No, but I repeat, it was one of them who lighted the way of the general and monsieur to the abbey vault, and Digby assured us that the general was suspicious of them. Now, who can prove these fishermen weren’t colluding with monsieur here, and that once the blow was struck, monsieur, who is certainly brave, didn’t stay to reassure us by his presence and turn aside an investigation?”

  This argument made an impression on the other two officers.

  “Sir,” said Athos, “permit me to say that your reasoning, plausible though it sounds, falls apart where it concerns me. I stayed behind, you say, to allay your suspicions. But on the contrary, Gentlemen, I can have suspicions as well as you have, and I say it’s impossible for the general, on the eve of a battle, to go off without saying anything to anyone. Yes, there is some strange event involved in this, and rather than remain idle and waiting, you must exhibit all possible activity and vigilance. I am your prisoner, Gentlemen, on parole or otherwise. My honor is engaged in learning what has become of General Monck, so much so that if you said, ‘Depart!’ I’d say, ‘No, I remain.’ And if you asked for my opinion, I’d say, ‘Yes, the general is the victim of some plot or conspiracy, for if he were going to leave the camp, he’d have told me so. Seek, search everywhere, by land and by sea; the general hasn’t left, at least not of his own free will.’ ”

  The lieutenant commander shared a significant look with the other officers. “No, Monsieur,” he said, “now you go too far. The general is unlikely to be a victim in these events, and in all likelihood he’s directed them. General Monck has done this kind of thing before. It would be a mistake for us to be alarmed; no doubt his absence will be short-lived, so we should be careful to avoid doing something out of fear to announce his absence, because if we demoralize his army that, to the general, would be the true crime. The general is giving us proof of his confidence in us, and to be worthy of his esteem we must wreath the whole affair in profound silence. We’re going to safeguard monsieur, not out of distrust because he’s committed a crime, but to better ensure the secret of the general’s absence by keeping him with us, so until further notice monsieur will live here at headquarters.”

  “Gentlemen,” said Athos, “you forget that the general entrusted me with a charge over which I must keep watch. Give me whatever guard you please, shackle me if you must, but use my house as my prison. Otherwise I swear the general, on his return, will reproach you for it, on my faith as a gentleman.”

  The officers consulted with one another for a moment, and then the lieutenant commander said, “So be it, Monsieur; return to your house.”

  They gave Athos a guard of fifty men who surrounde
d his house, not losing sight of him for a moment. The secret was kept, but hours passed, and then days, without the return of the general or any word of him.

  XXVIII Contraband Merchandise

  Two days after the events just related, while General Monck was expected to return to the camp at any instant—but did not—a small Dutch dogger, with a ten-man crew, dropped anchor offshore from Scheveningen, almost within cannon-shot of the port. It was the darkest hour of the night and the tide was rising in the gloom, an excellent time to disembark passengers and unload merchandise.

  The harbor of Scheveningen, which curved in a broad crescent, was shallow and moreover unsafe; almost nothing anchored there but large Flemish hoys or local Dutch fishing boats, which the sailors drew up on the sand on rollers, as Virgil says the ancients did in the Mediterranean. When the tide is rising it isn’t safe to bring a vessel too close to shore, for if the wind is stiff its prow can be driven into the sand, and the sand of that coast is spongy: what it takes in it doesn’t give up so easily. This was probably why a longboat detached from the dogger as soon as it dropped anchor and came in with eight of its sailors, who surrounded a long oblong object, some sort of basket or box.

  The shore was deserted; the few fishermen who lived in the dunes were in bed. The sole watchman who guarded the coast—a coast very poorly guarded, since disembarking from large vessels was impossible—was imitating the sleeping fishermen as far as possible, though he had to sleep in his sentry box instead of a bed. The only sound to be heard was the whistling of the night breeze as it hissed through the heather on the dunes. But the approaching sailors must have been suspicious men, for the apparent solitude didn’t satisfy them, and their boat, barely visible as a dark blot on the ocean, slipped in without sound, eschewing the noisy use of oars, until the tide drove it onto the sand.

  The moment he felt the keel strike a single man jumped out of the longboat, after giving a brief order in a voice that indicated the habit of command. As a consequence of this order, several muskets immediately showed themselves by the faint light from the sea, that mirror of the sky, and the oblong bundle previously mentioned, which doubtless contained some form of contraband, was carried ashore with infinite care.

  Immediately, the man who’d landed first ran diagonally past the village of Scheveningen, heading for the nearest grove of the wood. There he sought that house that we saw once before through the trees, and which we know was the temporary, and very humble, dwelling of he who was called by courtesy the King of England.

  Everyone was asleep there as elsewhere; only a big dog, of the breed the fishmongers of Scheveningen harness to their little carts to carry their fish into The Hague, began a wild barking as soon as he heard the stranger’s footsteps outside the windows. But this reception, instead of frightening the newcomer, seemed on the contrary to delight him, for his voice might not have been enough to awaken the inhabitants of the house, but with the dog’s assistance his voice was hardly needed. The stranger therefore waited until the repeated barking had had its probable effect, and then ventured to call out. At that sound the mastiff began to roar with greater violence, and soon another voice was heard within, quieting the watchdog. Once the dog had settled down, a voice, weak, broken, and polite, said, “Wh-what do you want?”

  “To call on His Majesty King Charles II,” said the stranger.

  “What do you want with him?”

  “I want to speak with him.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Ah, mordioux! Too many questions. I don’t like talking through doors.”

  “Just tell me your name.”

  “I don’t like to announce my name in the open air. Look, it’s not like I’m going to eat your dog—I just hope to God he doesn’t eat me.”

  “You bring news, maybe, Monsieur?” replied the voice, patient and hesitant like that of an old man.

  “In fact, I do bring news, and news you’d never expect! So, open up, won’t you?”

  “Monsieur,” continued the old man, “on your soul and conscience, do you believe your news is worth waking the king for?”

  “For the love of God! My dear Monsieur, you won’t be sorry, I swear to you, for putting him to the trouble. I’m worth my weight in gold, word of honor!”

  “Monsieur, I simply cannot open this door until you tell me your name.”

  “Must I, then?”

  “That’s my master’s order, Monsieur.”

  “All right! My name is… but I warn you, my name won’t tell you anything.”

  “Nevertheless, tell me anyway.”

  “Well! I’m the Chevalier d’Artagnan.”

  The voice gave a happy gasp. “My God!” said the old man on the other side of the door. “Monsieur d’Artagnan! What joy! I thought I recognized that voice.”

  “Well!” said d’Artagnan to himself. “They know my voice here. How flattering!”

  “Oh, yes, we know it!” said the old man, throwing open the locks. “And here’s the proof.”

  And with these words he admitted d’Artagnan who, by the light of the lantern in the old man’s hand, recognized the stubborn guardian. “God’s death!” he cried. “It’s Parry! I should have known.”

  “Parry, yes, my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, it is I. What joy to see you again!”

  “Well said: what joy!” said d’Artagnan, squeezing the old man’s hands. “Çà! Now you’ll warn the king, won’t you?”

  “But the king is asleep, my dear Monsieur.”

  “God’s death! Awaken him and he won’t scold you for disturbing him, I promise you.”

  “Do you come on behalf of the count?”

  “Which count?”

  “The Comte de La Fère.”

  “On the behalf of Athos? My faith, no—I come on behalf of me. Let’s go to the king, Parry! I need to see the king!”

  Parry didn’t feel a duty to resist any longer; he’d known d’Artagnan a long time and knew that, Gascon though he was, his words never promised more than they could deliver. He led the way across a courtyard and a small garden, soothed the dog, who seriously wanted a taste of musketeer, and knocked on the shutter of a small chamber on the ground floor of a rear pavilion. Immediately a small dog within began imitating the big dog in the courtyard.

  “Poor king!” d’Artagnan said to himself. “These are his bodyguards. Though it’s true they’re not the worst sentries I’ve seen.”

  “What is it?” asked the king from within the chamber.

  “Sire, it’s the Chevalier d’Artagnan, who’s brought news.”

  No more noise from within, just the door quickly opened. Bright light flooded the corridor and the garden, for the king had been working by lamplight. Papers were scattered across his desk where he had begun the draft of a letter that, by its many erasures, showed the difficulty he was having in writing it.

  “Come in, Monsieur le Chevalier,” he said. But upon turning he saw only a fisherman, and asked, “What were you talking about, Parry, and where is the Chevalier d’Artagnan?”

  “He is before you, Sire,” said d’Artagnan.

  “In such an outfit?”

  “Yes. Look closely at me, Sire; don’t you recognize the man you saw at Blois in the antechambers of King Louis XIV?”

  “I do, Monsieur, and I recall that I had much to thank you for.”

  D’Artagnan bowed. “It was my duty to behave as I did, once I knew I was dealing with Your Majesty.”

  “You bring me news, you say?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “On the behalf of the King of France, no doubt?”

  “Ma foi, no, Sire,” replied d’Artagnan. “Your Majesty must have seen that the King of France is occupied only with his own majesty.”

  Charles rolled his eyes and sighed.

  “No, Sire,” continued d’Artagnan, “I bring news that I’ve made myself. However, I dare to hope that Your Majesty will hear this news with some favor.”

  “Speak, Monsieur.”

  “If
I’m not mistaken, Sire, Your Majesty spoke forcefully at Blois about the frustration of his affairs in England.”

  Charles flushed. “Monsieur,” he said, “I spoke of that only to the King of France.”

  “No, Your Majesty is mistaken,” said the musketeer coolly. “When kings are in trouble, they also speak to me. In fact, that’s the only time they speak to me; once the sun shines again, they speak to me no more. But I have for Your Majesty, not only the greatest respect, but also absolute devotion—and when that comes from a d’Artagnan, Sire, it means something. Now, when I heard Your Majesty complain of the turns of fate, I found him noble, generous, and ill-served by fortune.”

  “In truth,” said Charles, astonished, “I’m not sure which is greater, your respect or your liberties.”

  “You can decide that later, Sire,” said d’Artagnan. “So, Your Majesty complained to his brother Louis XIV of the difficulties he was having in returning to England and regaining his throne without men or money.”

  Charles shrugged in a manner that betrayed some impatience.

  “And the principal obstacle he found blocking his way,” continued d’Artagnan, “was a certain general commanding the armies of Parliament and who was acting like another Cromwell. Isn’t that what Your Majesty said?”

  “Yes; but I repeat to you, Monsieur, these words were spoken for the king alone.”

  “And you will find, Sire, that you’re glad they also fell into the ears of his Lieutenant of Musketeers. This man who was frustrating Your Majesty was called General Monck, I think. Did I hear his name rightly, Sire?”

  “Yes, Monsieur—but once more, what is the point of these questions?”

  “Oh, I’m well aware, Sire, that etiquette doesn’t permit us to question kings. I hope that later Your Majesty will forgive me this discourtesy. Your Majesty added that if only he could come face to face to confer with him, then by force or persuasion he would remove this stubborn obstacle, the only real barrier he found in his path.”