Now they know … she looks from one to the other, her boys … the day forever etched in her memory … early morning … soldiers on horseback in the yard, churning up the dust stinging her eyes… … soldiers marching toward her … Richelieu behind them, red robes billowing…’did you think you could hide from me?’…
‘Mère.’ She recognizes Lucien’s voice … he was eating a pastry … licking the sugar from his fingers when the sound of many boots thundered …, his eyes wide with fear … he started to cry … Olivier running, carrying his little brother … you must hide Lucien …
‘Mère,’ he says again, not a child’s voice, but that of grown man.
‘Who told you?’ she asks, looking between them. She is still standing, clutching her hands so she will not reach out for them … they are not children who need her arms around them, so they know they are safe. They were never safe, especially with her.
Athos and Lucien exchange a worried look. It is not what they expected. Athos frowns and pushes himself away from the door to walk a few paces into the room and stops. He is not sure what he intends but he says, ‘Rochefort.’
‘What a terrible man,’ Marie looks bitter, ‘malicious ambition. He had a son …’
‘Charles Cesar,’ Athos says, ‘I am speaking of the son, not the father.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Marie blinks at her confusion. ‘The father is … no more. Charles Cesar – what a lonely sad little boy he was. His father was very stern. He expected to marry me, did you know that?’ Athos and Lucien exchange another puzzled glance.
‘No Madame, ‘ Athos replies, ‘I … we did not know that.’
‘Richelieu pretended to consider his offer, but he detested the man,’ Marie looks contemptuous, he was ambitious for his son, Charles Cesar. The son hoped to inherit from Richelieu. Of course, Richelieu knew how to dangle his favor and get what he needed from Charles Cesar as he did from all his sycophants. The father might have thought more carefully about his ambition, as the only thing the son received from Richelieu was to be forgotten in a Spanish prison.’
She falls silent, and loses track of her anger, a different memory coming forward, ‘poor Bianca…so brave, she tried to shield me.’
Athos visibly startles at the name of his daughter, who carries the name of Alessandra’s mother. Alessandra and her mother had been at Glenay.
‘A beautiful little girl …’ Her voice has a distant quality, her eyes vague as she looks within at old memories as though turning the pages of a diary with vivid descriptions of time and place, people and events. ‘Sandretta her mother called her…’ Marie sways slightly and Sophia is quickly beside her, taking her arm.
‘Sit down love.’ Sophia sends Lucien a sharp glance. He is staring at his mother with a fixed expression, rooted to the floor. He blinks and walks to a side table to pour a dose of brandy in a glass and hands it to Sophia who waves it away impatiently. ‘Water please,’ she glares at him. Athos appears next to Lucien and hands her a glass of water. She presses it into Marie’s trembling hand. ‘Just a sip dearest.’ She covers Marie’s hand with her own to guide the glass to her lips. The elderly woman drinks and then rests her head on the back of the chair, tired and worn. A shiver of alarm steals through Lucien, his mother seems frail to him. She looks up at the two men hovering over her.
‘I will tell you the story,’ she says softly.
‘You can rest,’ Sophia takes charge, ‘we do not have to do this now Marie.’
‘We do,’ Marie says decidedly and sits up a little straighter. Athos taps Lucien’s shoulder, and Lucien follows him to the settee. They sit opposite her. Sophia takes a chair to the side where she is not in the line of sight for anyone. She is an observer only, her glance shifting between Athos, Lucien and Marie.
‘Rochefort used Richelieu’s office, and I knew he had searched it several times. I thought I had removed all of Richelieu’s papers and there would be nothing for him to find.’
‘Madame,’ Athos asks, ‘may I ask you simply tell us … the truth.’
‘Truth,’ Marie says scornfully, ‘truth was always shrouded in deceit and misdirection.’ She takes a deep breath, ‘but I understand what you are asking.’ She gazes at the flames in the fireplace composing herself, searching for the right place to start.
‘I will begin with you,’ she looks at Athos, ‘and not at the very beginning for that goes back many years. It will be enough for now that you to understand that I never wanted to marry or be at the royal court. I wished with all my heart to take vows and live a religious life. But when my father died, Jean Armand informed me he intended to serve as my guardian. I was raised in the country, too young and inexperienced. I simply obeyed him. I was sent to serve among the Queen’s ladies, to be his spy in the royal court. But I was fortunate that the Queen expected her ladies to take retreat in convent life for prayer and contemplation.’ She looks directly at Athos.
‘And that is where you were born.’
She falls silent, gazing into the fire not looking at the yellow gold flames, but seeing herself long ago giving birth in a cold, dark and narrow monk’s cell, on a hard bed lying on coarse linens, a cloth in her mouth to stifle her cries, freezing water to wash away blood. She and her baby might have perished if Sister Barbara had not summoned a midwife. Louise de Bourgeois saved both their lives.
‘I was able to stay for several months,’ Marie picks up the story, ‘but eventually I had to return to court. I came as often as I could to hold you and ensure you were well cared for. Richelieu grudgingly allowed it. He expressed deep remorse, and was fearful of discovery, but in secret he preened. He had feared the end of his line as there were no other direct male du Plessis heirs. He was clever, it was rumored that he had secret mistresses, even within the nobility, and he planted enough bits of innuendo to insinuate there may be a bastard son. He was accumulating great power, almost untouchable and he began to think of what use you could be to him,’ Marie has a bitter edge to her voice, ‘while I became fearful of what his enemies might do if they discovered you.’
‘But by the time I needed to retreat again,’ she says obliquely, this time looking at Lucien, ‘Richelieu informed me of his intention to send Olivier away until he decided his fate. I knew then that I would not tell him that I was again with child. I knew he would do the same to you and I would never see you again. He would never permit me to know where either of you would be sent or to whom. It was intolerable.’ She studies her hands for a moment. ‘I planned for my customary retreat to coincide with my confinement. He never questioned my religious retreats. I knew I would need help after you were born.’
‘So, I approached Treville.’ She pauses, waiting for them to ask why she would ask Treville for help. Here is where Sophia would enter the story – if that is what she reveals. She knows she is wandering a little through the rooms of her memory, disjointed and faded, but some images and stories as clear as they day they were formed. Treville – a young man, strong, honorable and truly bound to his sense of duty who fell in love with a young noble woman beyond his reach, Sophia’s mother. It was an old story, unremarkable really, immortalized in story and song and ever painful. His sharp blue eyes missed nothing of Richelieu’s machinations, and he had sympathy for her. She looks across a vast chasm at her sons, but they do not ask. Perhaps they think they know enough to make their own judgments.
‘Treville was no friend to Richelieu,’ she continues, ‘and he had no reasons to help me and plenty of reasons to not get involved. Nevertheless, he did. After Lucien was born, he took us in a carriage from the convent, the midwife came with us and we escaped to my ancestral home, Glenay. That is where we lived, with my dear friend Bianca, a brilliant artist, her husband Andrea the Doge’s younger son.’ She makes a small smile seeing a tableau in her memory, ‘always with a book in his hand or at his desk where he did his writing in a little room overlooking the garden where he could watch the children play, my boys and their daughter they called Sandretta.’ She gazes for a moment at Athos, ‘she was a beautiful child, those lustrous green eyes and silky curls. We made trips to the seashore where we have a small house and stayed in the summers. Alessandra and you would swing Lucien between you along the beach, build castles in the sand. We were so happy there.’
‘Sandretta,’ Athos’ murmurs, stunned by the revelation that he and Alessandra knew each other as children. He studies his hands as though they belong to someone else, hands that touched a woman with ardent love and set a noose around her neck. Who was he?
‘Treville,’ Athos has a distant expression, as he tries to look to the past for clues that had eluded him. ‘Treville knew my true heritage.’ It was more accusation than a question. Treville had known he did not merit the Hautclere sword. He suppresses a shudder, almost ashamed of his pride in his family’s heritage. Pride that was not his.
‘We were separated,’ Athos is working his way out of initial shock and into probing the details of her extraordinary story, ‘how did this happen and how did we…’ Sophia abruptly stands up and Athos stops looking astonished at her interruption.
‘The hour is late, and I believe Her Grace is tired and needs her rest. There will be time for this later,’ she speaks firmly, standing resolutely by Marie’s chair. Lucien stands too and pulls the servant bell call. Within minutes there is a soft knock at the door. Marie’s maid peeks inside.
‘Her Grace is ready to retire,’ Sophia says to the maid. As Marie starts to stand, Athos and Lucien get to their feet. Marie leans on her maid, Lucien quickly takes her other arm, ‘allow me Mère.’
Sophia turns to Athos, ‘I will show you to your chamber.’ They walk together down the dark quiet corridors. He wonders if they are close to Bianca’s bed chamber when Sophia stops. ‘The children’s bed chambers are here. Would you like to see Bianca? She will be asleep but …’ her voice trails off. She looks at him kindly knowing his reserved nature and his deep love for his daughter. He looks at her gratefully and nods. Sophia opens the door soundlessly. At the foot of the bed, on a cot, Bianca’s nurse wakes. Sophia holds her finger to her lips.
Athos steps silently around the bed. The bed drapes are slightly parted. He gazes down at his daughter, dark curls against the white of the pillow, the palm of her hand tucked against her cheek, her small body outlined under the bedcovers. His breath catches at her vulnerable innocence and child’s beauty. He goes down on one knee and watches her for a moment. Alessandra was not much older when they played together with Lucien on a distant seashore. He leans forward, barely brushing his lips against her curls, not wanting to wake her. What will he say to her when she asks about her mother?
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
In his mother’s salon Lucien pours a generous quantity of brandy into a glass and throws himself onto the settee in front of the fire. He wonders what Athos heard tonight. The door opens and Sophia glides into the room and sits next to him. She takes the glass of brandy, and he watches the movement of her slender throat as she swallows the warm liquid. She holds the glass in her lap, her eyes on the fire and then on him.
‘Is Athos settled?’ She nods, ‘I took him to see Bianca. It is a great deal for him to take in.’ She looks at him, ‘you too I imagine.’
Lucien grunts, ‘yes, me as brother to the Comte de la Fere and whatever title he holds from Venice. Is he a duc there?’
‘He is a duc here. He holds the title that belonged to Richelieu.’
‘True,’ Lucien plucks the glass from her hands and drains the brandy, ‘he will handle that better than I did.’
‘What I expect troubles him more is the sense he has lost a family he cared for deeply. The truth was kept from him.’
‘What happened to Athos and me is not uncommon. Bastards are sent away, raised as sons or daughters in families not their own. They never know their true parentage.’
‘Athos had the certainty of his family line. You are too dismissive of the significance of knowing where one belongs in this world. This is now upended, and he may well feel adrift,’ Sophia says pointedly, ‘you know this very well Lucien.’
‘Hmm,’ Lucien murmurs. He does know what Sophia describes. He also knows one other who does too. He stands and holds out his hands to her, ‘come wife, we had long ride, and I am tired.’
‘A bath is being prepared,’ she grasps his hands and is pulled into his embrace. ‘Oh dear,’ she wrinkles her nose, ‘you will need plenty of soap.’
‘You had best warn my valet.’
‘I am your valet tonight,’ she says and taps his chest. ‘I am always forewarned about you.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Dawn…
Like every creature born of the wilds, he senses the dawn, the shifting tempos as night retreats and day advances. He listens and in the eye of his mind he sees outside the draped bed, the banked fireplace soon to be stirred to life, servants moving about in the kitchen, dogs stretching as sleepy stableboys and sheep herders shake each other awake, the estate beginning to come to life. Owls, nighthawks and wolves find a safe place to shut their eyes against the light while songbirds send out their first trills of song.
Sophia sleeps peacefully nestled within the warmth of his arms, his body curving around hers. Under his fingers encircling her slender wrist, her bones feel fragile. Silky hair tickles his cheek and breathes in her scent, feels her warmth and the steady rise and fall of breathing against his chest. She dreams, making small twitches and soft murmurings. When he is apart from her, he dreams of these moments, the surety of where he belongs. He kisses her cheek and slides from the bed.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Athos wakes before dawn after a restless night of unending dreams … images of little girls with black hair and green eyes, a limitless ocean, the happy cries of a small boy trying to outrun the waves lapping at his feet…the child goes out too far, a wave suddenly towering over him…stop! stop!... he runs to pull him from the water…and wakes sweating and shaking with fear every time ….
He leaves the bed to pull the drapes back to the gray world of early dawn. He blows gently on the window creating a gray smudge. A tall figure is walking out from the house toward the stable dressed in riding clothes. The figure turns and looks directly up at his window. Quickly, Athos turns from the window, and grabs his doublet, gloves, boots and heavy cloak.
In the stable Lucien is saddling Jaden, the stallion nickering excitedly and bobbing his heads in anticipation. At the sound of booted steps, Lucien pulls another saddle from the rack. ‘I have just the horse for you,’ he says, ‘this way.’ Athos takes the saddle from him.
They wind wool scarves around their faces and necks, pull their hats down low, and ride from the yard onto the pathways that lead up into the hills. Horses and riders breathe out small gray clouds as they ride, their exposed cheeks reddening from the crisp air. They keep their horses to a steady canter. Gray sky slowly turns pale blue, the eastern horizon glowing as the sun begins a stately rising. They reach the top of the hill and slow to a stop, just as the sun breaches the horizon, rays of light spreading over the hillside. At a promontory overlooking the valley, Lucien stops to take in the view.
‘The Abbey,’ Lucien points to low buildings in the distance, sweeping his hand north of it. ‘Moncel Abbey is not visible from here, but it is in that direction.’
‘It is yours now, isn’t it?’ Athos asks, ‘I understand the King bestowed it.’
‘Oh yes,’ Lucien makes a sardonic laugh, ‘His Majesty has given me the privilege to stock it with soldiers and provisions to prevent the Huguenots from getting ideas of invasion.’ He notes Athos does not smile at his jest and shrugs. Perhaps they will never share a diffidence toward duty to the crown.
‘That is the privilege of royalty is it not?’ Athos says. Lucien smiles, ‘so it is,’ he says.
Lucien dismounts and points up at the jumble of rocks. ‘The river can be seen from the top.’ He starts to climb the promontory, ‘it has been a while since I welcomed the sun from the highest point.’ Athos cranes his neck to watch him climb. ‘Not coming?’ Lucien calls down to him.
Athos shakes his head, ‘I hope you know what you are doing.’
‘I always know what I am doing,’ Lucien boasts in a mocking tone. Athos shakes his head ruefully.
‘Well, should you fall, I will collect the pieces.’
Lucien laughs, ‘I never fall!’
You fell at least once …Athos startles as the image is suddenly there … he feels the hot sun on his head, smells the salt air, hears the booming waves against the rocky outcroppings, and the gulls shrieking overhead … the water is cold and the little boy is laughing and chasing the retreating waves from the shore but he has gone out too far … stop! he shouts running into the waves as a rogue wave rises and surges forward… the little boy falls … he lifts him up and pushes him to the shore and then he is underwater … choking …
It was in his dream, but it was true. It was not a memory about Thomas. It was Lucien who had fallen into the ocean’s wave…he can see it now. It had been his brother – Lucien. He looks up at the tiny figure as Lucien reaches the top and stands yodeling, his arms outstretched, victorious in his effort. Athos shakes his head and chuckles with amusement. There is something irrepressible about Lucien. It is a wildness that served him well to survive as an orphan and forge his future. It still allows him a measure of joy. Athos feels a stab of sorrow at the time they have missed together, the events that pulled them apart. He wonders if they can see past their judgments and blame, mistakes and regrets to what time is left. He looks up at Lucien.
‘What is this mountainous peak called?’
‘It is called Hayal’s Peak. Yusuf named it for his wife Hayal. It means to wish, to dream.’
‘A good place for it,’ Athos mutters to himself. He watches Lucien begin to climb down the rockface. ‘It is probably past time for us to return.’ He speaks casually, but Lucien hears the serious undertones and attempts to defuse the tension.
‘Have you given any thought to the dimensions of your family? You are blessed M with four nieces and three nephews and already two nephews more by marriage, and when the boys marry there will be three more nieces and when the girls marry two more nephews. There is already one grandniece with another one on way. They are like rabbits M! I think I shall send them all to you at Bragelonne so you can become better acquainted and see what it means to feed such a family.’
‘No need,’ Athos shakes his head smiling and with a wry expression. Rabbits indeed! ‘I shall have that opportunity here.’
‘You know Sophia is overjoyed to call Alessandra sister. Will you tell the others?’ Lucien jumps the last few boulders to the ground, breathless and hands to his hips.
‘Yes,’ Athos says, realizing he had not considered that Sophia and Alessandra would be sisters by marriage. Alessandra could not have a more loyal or fierce advocate than Sophia de la Croix.
‘There is little reason to delay. I will talk with Porthos, Aramis and d’Artagnan and leave it to them to tell their wives and children.’
‘I understand they are all in the dower house this morning. You will find them there.’
They return to the stable, handing off their horses to the grooms. As they walk out of the yard, two figures emerge from the rear door that leads to the kitchen. A small child bundled in a thick jacket and woolen scarves, is racing towards them. As the child runs, the scarf comes unwound, dark hair spilling out. The taller figure hurries after.
‘Papa!
Athos chuckles and drops to one knee as his daughter barrels into his arms. He lifts her turning round and round, hugging her tight as she squeals with joy and laughter. He stops, kissing her cheeks murmuring, ‘my Petite…my precious Petite.’
Bianca claps her hands to his cheeks, laughing with exaggerated patience, ‘Bia Papa! I am to be called Bia!’
Athos smiles and sets her on her feet, leaning down to touch her nose, ‘to your Papa, you will always be my Petite.’ Bianca throws her arms around his neck, ‘Is maman with you?’ she asks eagerly.
‘No Petite,’ he says calmly, ‘she is still away. But I am soon to go and join her.’
‘You will bring her back,’ his daughter declares his mission clearly. ‘I do miss her so much Papa.’ She sees Rayya greeting her father.
‘M Lucien!’ she calls out, ‘did you kiss your horse this morning?’ Lucien feigns an exaggerated bow to her, nodding somberly, ‘of course Mlle. Jaden must know that I missed him.’
‘I have ridden Atlas,’ Bianca informs her father importantly, ‘M Eduin says I keep my heels down quite well. Much better than Alexandre.’
‘No small feat on a horse the width of Atlas,’ Lucien says admiringly. He glances at Rayya who nods her head confirming Bianca’s accomplishments. ‘I must see it for myself Mlle.’ He stands up. ‘Now, I am for breakfast.’
‘I am for the dower house,’ Athos says and kisses Bianca’s cheek. ‘Have your breakfast Petite and I will come to watch you ride Atlas.’ He mounts and walks his horse toward Lucien, looking down at his reins for a moment, at a loss for exactly what he wants to say. Lucien makes a small smile, ‘I will wait with Atlas,’ and waves him away.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
From an upstairs window, Sophia watches Athos ride toward the dower house to talk with his musketeer brothers. D’Artagnan and Porthos will tell their wives and Constance and Elodie will talk to their children. She and Lucien must gather her own flock. There is still more for Marie to reveal and reactions to manage. How long before the palace knows? Is Rochefort smearing his poison over the truth and spreading it all over Paris? It will be hard for Marie. Many will turn against her.
And what of Alessandra, who is now her sister. She has always felt sisterly toward Alessandra. The others have reservations about her, the marriage to Athos, the connections with Richelieu. She takes a deep breath. No one will speak against Alessandra in her house. She is family.
‘Madame? Is there anything more?’
‘Yes,’ she turns from the window, ‘have Cook prepare a tray for the Duchess and me. We will break our fast together in her chamber.’
She will stay by Marie’s side. They will go today to the Abbey for services. Marie will gain strength from that. She must warn M Goux to be watchful for couriers from Paris, she wants to see all messages and pamphlets first. Madame Perle must stop the servants from any gossip of what they are likely overhearing. The children will attend their classes and lessons as usual. She is determined to manage this crisis as she has all the others. There will be no disruptions to the day’s activities. As she walks to the door, she thinks it might be a good idea to have everyone for dinner. She will ask Marie what she thinks of that idea.
Twelve Years After 