Lucien is stunned …Athos steps back and time slows… he hears the words but cannot make sense of them …“What the hell are you rambling on about?” he growls, his sword still half-drawn.
…”Oh no! Can it be that dear Maman did not tell you the whole truth? Tsk tsk tsk…Dear Maman was always such a hypocrite!” Rochefort’s lips draw back in a snarl. “But then so was Dear Papa. A hypocrite who betrayed those most loyal to him. Rochefort barks “Radu!” and draws a pistol… aiming point blank at Athos’ head …the room fills with armed mercenaries. “Let’s test if brotherly love works.”
Lucien is frozen. Foolishly, he stares at the pistol Rochefort is pointing at Athos’ head … the polished walnut stock and grip inlaid with ebony and slivers of ivory… English made…a beautiful weapon… he notes the ornate and unusual firing mechanism… he tilts his head to one side … a gift perhaps, from the Englishman…
‘Interesting gun,’ Lucien comments, ‘one does not see many pistols with doglocks. But then you are obviously not a soldier or even a marksman. You hire out your killings.’
‘Even you cannot win over a gun Your Grace,’ Rochefort sneers at him keeping his eyes on Athos.
‘I can, over this one,’ Lucien says softly and raises his eyes to Rochefort watching the meaning of his words register. Rochefort glances at the gun, reacts quickly…but not quickly enough. In one swift motion, Lucien plants his hand on the massive desk and vaults over it, swinging his feet high and connecting with Rochefort, knocking him back and the pistol from his hand. The blast from the gun is deafening as the shot goes wide. The soot blinds him and smoke billows as he lands on his feet to the floor, his sword in one hand, his other hand clenched hard. Athos is roaring as he engages Radu and his men. Lucien unleashes a cocked fist toward Rochefort and staggers as he connects with nothing but air… a demonic laugh is fading as the smoke clears…Rochefort has vanished.
Furious at Rochefort’s escape, Lucien rounds the desk. Radu is not attacking, only parrying Athos’ thrusts as he and his men are backing away from the fight, clearing a path to the door. Infuriated, Lucien starts to rush at them when Athos grabs his arm. ‘Their orders seem not to kill us. They are letting us go.’
‘My orders say otherwise!’ Lucien snarls trying to shake off Athos’ hand. ‘We go!’ Athos’ voice and grip are iron. Together, they move toward the door, Athos keeps his sword raised and pointed at Radu with Lucien in front of him still snarling at the guards, ‘come on coward!’ feinting with his sword forcing them to step back when they clearly want to step forward. Athos pushes him forward again. Outside the room Athos barks, ‘keep going.’ Lucien stalks forward weapons in hand, Athos guards their retreat, and they proceed through the galleries and corridors, down the stairs and through the front door. The house is eerily silent and empty. The front door stands open.
Outside their horses are tethered to a fence. No guards wait for them. They mount quickly and ride through the quiet manicured gardens and grounds, down the path and through the open iron gate and out onto the open road. By silent agreement they turn north in the direction of Royaumont settling into a steady pace. Also, by silent agreement, they do not talk, each man alone with his thoughts
Athos is angry with himself. He should have seen it coming, he is too well acquainted with the depths of Rochefort’s malice and cruelty. … “ You are expected”…
Charles Cesar was waiting for them. He wanted them there so he could berate and accuse them for past deeds, disparage Alessandra, sneer at Lucien with contempt, and taunt them with Alessandra’s whereabouts. The final blow had been a monstrous lie that slandered his family, accusing his beloved father and mother of deceiving him and outrageously claiming he and Lucien were brothers, born to Marie de Combalet, fathered by Jean Armand du Plessis, Cardinal Richelieu.
…’Do not presume to call me cousin or my son your nephew…
Charles Cesar was a pretentious, arrogant, ruthless man who believes himself more worthy than he is. Athos should have known that Charles Cesar would stoop as low as necessary to strike at him. There is no law or moral code Rochefort would not disobey or ignore to achieve his ends. He should have been better prepared. But one detail nags at him. Why are they alive? Why were he and Lucien allowed to leave unharmed?
They are riding towards Fontainbleu. The road winds through verdant lands and thick forests belonging to the King. Athos thinks of the last time he was in these woods for a royal hunt, one of the many celebrations for Layla and Rohan’s wedding. He and Alessandra had ridden in the hunt with Sophia and Lucien. Their wives rode ahead of them, happy to have a little time together and their laughter and conversation drifted in the silence of trees and thick shrubbery. He wonders if Lucien is having the same thoughts, seeing again the curve of the path, the sudden cries of fear and shrieks of panicked horses. He and Lucien had barely succeeded in killing three charging boars and Alessandra had almost been killed. Lucien insisted it was not a random accident, but the boars deliberately herded in their direction, a cloaked figure watching from the shadows.
The air is crisp, the sun warming their backs as they keep to a steady canter. Lucien is riding slightly ahead of him and Athos wonders if he is also remembering his daughter’s wedding. It was later when they knew that Rochefort had been at the wedding, masked at the ball and in the billiard room alone with their sons, Olivier, Samy and Alexandre. A shiver runs down his spine at the danger they only fully realized afterwards. Unbidden, Rochefort’s words burst forward …
..Sandretta …
How did Rochefort know this name? A name so intimate. A name he almost remembers although he can’t place.
…Rochefort’s lips draw back in a snarl. “But then so was Dear Papa. A hypocrite who betrayed those most loyal to him…
No! He admonishes himself. He needs more distance from it, to think dispassionately about Rochefort’s tactics with these cruel lies and why Rochefort planned for this meeting – what was his game? His concentration is interrupted when Lucien turns off the path into the yard of a roadside inn, one Athos knows. They had passed Melun without him noticing. He has paid no attention to their travel, too preoccupied with his own thoughts.
‘We can get fresh horses here,’ Lucien says. ‘Yes,’ Athos agrees, ‘I recall the food is passable.’ Lucien takes their reins and goes to negotiate with the stableman who knows the Comte and agrees to send Athos’ horses back to Bragelonne. With the issue of fresh mounts settled and the stable boys at work moving the tack, they go inside and order food. Lucien taps his fingers restively on the table, gets up, circles the room and pokes at the fire in the fireplace, adding wood that is not needed. The innkeeper frowns at the waste of good wood, but one look at Lucien’s scowling expression convinces him to stay silent. The serving woman arrives with a heavy tray and Lucien returns to the table, spearing a thick piece of meat with his dagger and taking a long drink.
‘This is not your wine,’ Lucien comments in a sour tone, setting the tankard down with a decided thump. Athos shrugs, he cannot remember if the owner bought his wine. He studies Lucien scowling expression. Lucien no more cares for conversation than he does.
‘What was that about the pistol?’ Athos asks.
‘It had a doglock,’ Lucien replies flatly, not looking up from his food.
‘Not many of those around.’
‘The English still make them, the Dutch too. ‘
‘He had not cocked it.’
‘No. He should have before he pointed it, that is, if he intended to shoot anyone.’ Lucien finally looks up at Athos, ‘such as you.’
‘Hmm,’ Athos murmurs. Lucien drops his eyes and returns to consuming his food with efficiency. The man eats because he knows he needs to, not because he likes it.
‘Would Layla have noticed that?’
Lucien snorts, ‘if she were here, she would ask what took me so long to see it.’
‘She is clever,’ Athos notes. Lucien makes a low grunt of agreement. He does not look at Athos, clearly not wanting to talk about doglocks, his daughter or anything else. He finishes his meal wiping the bowl with bread. ‘I will check on the horses.’
Athos pays the innkeeper and walks out into the cold late afternoon. The horses are waiting patiently while Lucien paces the yard. They swing up into the saddles and gather up reins.
‘We learned nothing about Alessandra,’ Lucien says in a low voice. He has a taut expression, anger and worry deepening the lines in his face and rubbing his forehead. He waits for me …Athos thinks. ‘I know,’ is all he can offer. The trail to Alessandra is cold.
‘I regret I was unable to kill him,’ Lucien mutters.
‘I understand the sentiment,’ Athos says, ‘but he may be the only one who knows what happened to her.’ They are still in the yard, Lucien studying the reins in his hand.
‘So, we are going in the right direction.’ Lucien phrases his question carefully, looking in the direction of the road.
Athos studies the road too as though indecisive. But his daughter is at Royaumont and he feels a quiet insistence that he must go to her. Bianca may be well cared for, but however loving those around her, Bianca must find her situation painful and confusing. Her mother is suddenly gone and even though he placed her in Constance’s care, he also left. He must return to Bianca and reassure her. He needs it too and he tries to think of how he will present those assurances.
‘I must see Bianca.’ Athos does not see Lucien’s sharp glance at him or the flicker of empathy in his eyes. Marie de Combalet is also at Royaumont. Athos knows this, so there is no reason for Lucien to say it. He lifts his reins and then they are back on the road, Athos falling in behind Lucien. They ride in an easterly direction to avoid coming too close to Paris.
Athos watches Lucien’s broad back. Rochefort has been steeped in revenge for a very long time. His final taunt was mendacious and calculated, declaring that his parentage is not what he knows, but that he is the bastard son of Richelieu and therefore brother to a man he has reviled for years – Lucien Grimaud. Why fling this arrow? Rochefort did not intend to simply wound him, but to destroy him, his heritage and the sacrifices and duty he has paid to his family’s values, his father’s adherence to traditions and his oath. It was duty born out of love for his parents. He revered his father, a loving generous man who had passed to him, the first son of his line, the Hauteclere sword. When he reunited with Raoul, he had followed that tradition with his own son, explaining the significance…
“When I was but a few years younger than you, my father, whose namesake you are, for he was called Raoul, took me to the royal crypt at St. Denis to visit the tomb of King Henry. It was a family ritual, and he followed it to the letter. My father was a man who valued tradition. There he made me take an oath in the presence of our dead King: to serve royalty, to serve the new King, to serve France, to always do my duty and uphold our family honor…
“This is a family heirloom, Raoul, “It is the Hauteclere. It is a powerful sword. Men in my family have carried it with honor for generations. Now it is yours. It is my wish that this sword, alongside everything I own passes on to you and your descendants…”
If Rochefort’s lies were true then Thomas, whose birth he remembers, is not his brother. His mother had been so happy to bear a healthy child so late in her life – it was unexpected, and both his parents were overjoyed. Thomas had been a joy in their lives, a sweet happy boy and it was his brother he had believed over Alessandra’s lies of debauchment and rape. He had sacrificed her out of guilt, condemned her for betraying him because of Thomas. If he were to believe Rochefort, it would mean his entire life had been a lie, he was a bastard, and the man he loved deeply as his father had not told him the truth and took his secret to his grave. This he cannot accept. Only Charles Cesar de Rochefort would know exactly how to wound him, to cause this painful confusion to distract and destroy him. That is their history.
They reach a broad river, the eastern tributary of the Seine that flows through Paris. Thick trees line the embankments, a brisk breeze coming off the river rustles through the high branches. Near the small village of Champs, east of Charenton they ride across a Roman bridge. The sun slants toward the western horizon. It will be a cold night, but they do not intend to stop except to rest the horses. They ride on well-traveled roads, country lanes known best to local people, tracks through wooded areas and then back on roads again lined with trees and shrubs and open fields. Athos does not bother to ask Lucien for their direction. They are in Lucien’s country, and he knows how to shorten their journey. Athos adjusts his neckcloth against the cold. Lucien Grimaud is not his brother.
… You were always so very protective of… little brother…dear Maman did not tell you the whole truth? Tsk tsk tsk…Dear Maman was always such a hypocrite…
Rochefort must be mad to think this is believable. If Lucien is his brother, how had they come to have such different early lives? He had grown up in comfort, educated, and presented at court while Lucien, an abandoned orphan, had scrounged for food while living in a forest – like an animal. Why would Marie de Combalet, the Duchess of Aiguillon allow that to happen to her younger son? Treville had been Athos’ godfather and looked out for him. Would Treville not have done the same for his brother whose circumstances were far more reduced? Treville and Richelieu did not like each other but for Treville to ignore the privations endured by the younger son on purpose – Athos cannot believe his beloved captain would or could be that cruel and petty. But he had taken away Lucien’s infant daughter and lied to Sophia about her death. Was that punishment for the sins of the father and grandfather?
Sandretta… does Lucien remember this name too, so intimate, a name he feels is at the very edge of his memories. Rochefort sneered at Lucien, threatened Lucien’s entire family, seemingly because he considers Grimaud to be no better than a gutter rat. Lucien did not know who he helped escape Paris, he acted on orders from Benito and once the job was done, he returned to his ships, his wharf and his privateering.
…”So many children, M. le duc, make a man in your position vulnerable. And then, of course, there are the other children…the…what should we call them?…expendable ones?”
Or is it because Lucien is the son of Jean Armand du Plessis, and the current Duc du Plessis. He might have once followed the orders of the formidable Benito de Soto, but Lucien forged his own destiny, building a extensive and powerful enterprise with many influential allies. He would never be an easy target for the control Rochefort likes to exert. Lucien holds great wealth and a significant title bestowing considerable authority. Lucien had not been ensnared in the web of Rochefort’s Company of the Orient. The conflict with Treville came later and he had not seen the connection to Rochefort … but now Athos wonders if Treville had known Lucien’s identity. He once thought he understood and agreed with Treville’s actions. Even under a letter of marque from the King, Lucien Grimaud was nothing but a pirate, a common criminal, a killer who lied, charmed and seduced a vulnerable young woman to obtain some measure of status and retaliation against Treville. He believed Grimaud had killed Treville, despite Grimaud’s repeated denials. He had been wrong about Lucien Grimaud. Was he wrong about Treville?
Lucien is turning off the road onto a track that opens into a yard behind a small inn with two stories. A sleepy stable boy appears, shrugging into a jacket a size too small, his thin arms poking out from sleeves too short. He shivers in the cold night. ‘M Grimaud,’ he stifles a yawn.
‘Looks like you outgrew your jacket Edy!’ Lucien frowns looking down at the boy’s feet. ‘Shoes too?’ He shakes his head in mock annoyance. ‘Madame will find larger sizes.’ The boy grins gratefully and leads the horses to the small lean to that serves as a stable. ‘Rub them down, a few oats,’ Lucien instructs.
Inside the inn is warm and fragrant with a pine wood fire. A man sleeps slumped on a bench near the fireplace, another is spooning up food from a large bowl. He glances at them briefly and looks away. The inn keeper brings two tankards and a flask, making no comment on their arrival in the middle of the night. ‘There is nothing hot at this hour M,’ the innkeeper addresses Lucien, ‘but there is still bread fresh from today and cheese.’
Lucien pours wine into two tankards. Athos drinks sparingly and stretches his shoulders, twisting in two directions. They are both chilled to the bone, the warmth slowly seeping in. Since he has paid little attention to their travel, Athos is not sure where they are or how much farther they must ride. A scrapping sound as the man eating at the table finishes his meal and walks to the innkeeper, dropping coins in his hands. There is a blast of cold air as he goes out into the cold night.
‘We have about three more hours.’ Lucien seems to read his mind. ‘They will know to expect us.’ Athos raises his brow. Lucien shrugs, ‘I have men in these woods who have already passed the message of our route to Martin and Yusuf.’
‘I did not see anyone,’ Athos frowns and then glances at the door wondering if the man who just left was one of Lucien’s men.
‘Well, that is the point,’ Lucien says. This is only the second time they have talked since leaving Burron Malotte. Athos has said little since they left Bourron Marlotte, preferring to ride slightly behind him, alone with his thoughts. He wonders if Athos gives any credence to Rochefort’s words – no doubt meant to be a shocking revelation to Athos, undermining his understanding of his entire life. Rochefort is an evil man, but inventive and quick to seize an opportunity. An unbelievable lie still can distract long enough to benefit him.
Rochefort has been taunting him for a long time, starting with stealing the gold he and Jacky Azoulay plundered from a Spanish ship. A man who could effectively steal from him was a man worth his attention. He had chased him through Spain, almost killed him and the Tower of Mendoza, and has been locked in a running sea battle with Rochefort ever since. Jacky Azoulay’s last message to him had described the garbled situation clearly.
…’with regard to the fight against the Company of the Orient …the good news is they are not winning this fight, the bad news is we are not winning this fight …’
Rochefort vanished at Bourron Marlotte – the second time that he had escaped Lucien’ sword. If he had succeeded in killing Rochefort at the Tower of Mendoza … but he is not one to indulge in hypothetical speculations. He wonders if Rochefort intended to kill Athos… “Let’s test if brotherly love works.”
Athos is still alive. But was that intended or the luck of an ineffective firing mechanisms and his ability to jump over a desk. There were sufficient mercenaries in the room to give them a very bad time, if not succeed in killing them. But Rochefort vanished and the mercenaries stepped back. He turns this over in his mind, thinking of possible outcomes to the question of why Rochefort let them live. Perhaps it is not complicated – perhaps the game is more intriguing as it played than ending it.
… “You were always so very protective of… little brother…He could be a handful as a boy. Still is, apparently.”
As far back as he can remember, shadowy images hovered at the edges of his memory, images that are woven into his dreams for as long as he can remember…a girl holds his hand as waves lap at his feet, a toy horse he carried … shouts to stop and being rocked, a woman’s voice gentle and soothing … he is carried while they run…you must hide here, be very still… I will come back for you… but only in dreams. The images fade with waking, drifting beyond his reach. As a child he lived as orphans do, dreaming of what he never had or ever would. Before Marie claimed him as her son, he had no family, no heritage, no duty to traditions or oaths. He had nothing, so he had nothing to lose but his own life and no matter what Sister Agatha believed, no one would weep for him. But Athos was raised in a family that he believed was his own. He had a brother, and no reason to question any of it. Lucien cannot sort out his thoughts when he tries to consider Athos as a brother to him. Has Rochefort truly upended Athos’ life? Whatever Rochefort’s intentions, the only person who knows the truth is at Royaumont.
‘Once we crest the hill, our arrival can be seen from the house,’ Lucien says, ‘I expect the word to spread quickly.’
Stars wink in and out as gray clouds drift over the night sky. Frost covered fields glisten in moonlight. The darkness and the cold fold around them, the only sound the steady beat of horse’s hooves against the cold hard roadway as they push their tired horses on. They crest the hill and the white stones of Royamont manor gleam in the moonlight, the tall dark tower, the remains of the ancient stone castle, stands sentinel. In a few minutes, they are dismounting in the stable yard. M Eduin appears from his cottage, gesturing to the groom to take charge of the horses. ‘Welcome home Your Grace, it looks to have been a long ride.’
‘We have pushed the horses hard,’ Lucien says. ‘They have earned a good rub down and rest,’ M Eduin replies, ‘we will take good care of them M.’
‘Kardes!’ Yusuf is striding toward Lucien, ready to embrace him when he sees Athos and checks himself, ‘Excellency.’ He glances between the two men noting their exhausted and tense expressions.
‘We must speak with Marie,’ Lucien is terse, speaking without preamble, ‘where is everyone?’
‘Most are in the salon. The young ones have been sent to bed.’
‘Good, give us a few minutes before you announce our arrival.’
Yusuf nods and points to the second story balcony, ‘the door leading from the balcony is not locked yet.’
They walk down the long corridor, passing silent servants who stand back and nod to their master. Voices from the family salon drift to them. Outside the salon Lucien pauses, removes his hat and rakes a hand through his hair. He turns to Athos, his eyes uncertain. Athos understands that in this moment, Lucien thinks he should say something but does not know what that is. The truth will affect each of them differently. Suddenly Athos sees himself with Raoul, as he passed the Hauteclere sword to his son, remembering his words of advice to Raoul…
… “I was never a father to you until now…I will just tell you the one thing I have learned: if it is meaning and purpose you seek, it is only in friendship and in love that you can find it. You asked me once what is worth fighting for. Friends and those you love…”
Athos meets Lucien’s eyes and nods, raises his arm to pat Lucien’s shoulder, as though to say …whatever it is, it will be all right…
They push the door open. Lucien goes in first, Athos quietly closing the door behind him. He leans back against it.
Two women are sitting opposite each other in front of the fireplace. Sophia is on the settee, her stockinged feet tucked under her. Marie de Combalet, the Duchess of Aiguillon is seated in a comfortable chair, a blanket over her lap. Sophia turns her head and makes a soft cry of surprise as she sees Lucien and quickly stands up. Her broad smile falters as she sees Athos behind him, her gaze swinging back to Lucien who has not moved. She turns around as Marie de Combalet puts the blanket aside and stands, facing the two men. Marie regards them steadily, a resigned look of inevitability in her eyes. She draws herself up, holds her hands folded together at her waist.
‘I see the time has finally come.’
Twelve Years After 