Chapter Twenty-Eight, Bourbon les eaux, by Corso

Lucien lays awake, unable to sleep and somewhere in the hours past midnight he gives up.  He dresses quickly, throwing his heavy winter cape over him and walks through the quiet inn.  Outside, the air is still, a deep cold stings his face. The road in front of the inn is barely illuminated in dim moonlight, disappearing at both ends into darkness. He ignores the cold, folding his arms together under his cape. He looks up at stars winking in and out by drifting clouds, and wonders if more snow is coming. He starts to walk, not looking back at the inn, so he does not see the curtain move in an upstairs window.

He tries to sort through the restless thoughts tumbling through his mind, but he cannot focus.  The habits of his life are too strong, he feels his mind quiet and yield to his senses stretching and probing the encompassing darkness.  The ground crunches under his boots, he smells a mix of damp earth and pine, the musk of animals and sweeter scents of night blooming plants.  Night birds quiet their plaintive notes as he passes nearby.  An owl hoots.  He lengthens his stride, walking up a rise in the road, the landscape falling away.  Clouds drift, moonlight shimmers as though diamonds from heaven were tossed into its stream, illuminating a frosted meadow spread out before him, a glittering carpet until it disappears into shadows.  He stops and breathes in the cold sharp air.  He hears rustling in the brush and resumes his walk.  He has no wish to disturb other creatures who, like him, walk alone in the dark.  Besides, he is unarmed. 

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In an upstairs room, a lone candle flickers.  Athos watches Lucien vanish into the night.  It seems reckless to risk the dangers of being alone in the woods.   For a moment he considers grabbing his boots and cloak and going after him. But if he knows anything about his brother, it is his need for privacy and solitude. They are alike in these habits. He had a sharp realization of this understanding during the time he and Lucien rode from Burron-Marlotte to Royaumont after Rochefort blurted out their true parentage.  He thought back to previous times when they exchanged few words but understood their actions. He also remembered another time, when Rayya and Bianca were kidnapped, when he accused Lucien of complicity.  That resulted in a fistfight neither of them had won. 

Athos stares out at the empty road.  If Lucien does not return soon… A soft tap at the door.  He opens it to Aramis who makes a rueful smile, ‘I heard you moving about. Can’t sleep?’

‘I will ask you the same,’ Athos counters, pulling another chair to the rough wooden table.  He pours out wine from the flask.  ‘Try this, it may help.’

‘It does not seem to have helped you,’ Aramis took a drink, appraising Athos’ tired, grizzled face.  ‘What keeps you awake?’

Athos rakes a hand through his disheveled hair, ‘being here brings back memories.  Ones I rather hoped never to visit again.’

‘We had no reason at the time to think Lucien Grimaud was involved,’ Aramis speaks to the unspoken reason. ‘We knew little of him.’  Athos visibly startles and Aramis shrugs, ‘the message was given to Lucien.  He has a long association with Alessandra, so I can see how it might occur to you.’

Athos shakes his head ruefully, ‘you know me too well brother.’

‘And you do not know your own brother well enough,’ Aramis replies.

‘I do not know what role he played…’ Athos admits.

‘But you fear that he did,’ Aramis says.  Neither man needs to repeat Alessandra’s part – they all know what she did. ‘What parts have we played to get us to where we are now.’  Aramis sighs heavily, ‘there is only one man responsible for the plan to kill the Queen and replace her with another. Richelieu is dead.  Let us not reassign his fault to those still living.’ 

Aramis rises and goes to stand with Athos at the window.  The light is beginning to change.  He grunts in surprise as Lucien appears on the road, turning into the yard toward the stables.  ‘It seems we are all awake.  We might as well make an early start.’  Aramis glances at Athos, silent and watching Lucien.  He claps an affectionate hand on his shoulder.

‘It is many years past Athos.  None of us are the same as we once were.’

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A fragment of time passes, the earth creaks, night begins to fade into a new day. Lucien retraces his steps to the inn, going directly to the stable to prepare their horses.   The stable boys are dumping oats into bins.  As he hauls saddles from the rack and shakes out blankets a kitchen maid arrives with a tray laden with covered dishes. 

‘From your friend,’ she says setting it on an upended barrel.  He looks puzzled.  ‘The older one,’ she tries to clarify and leaves.   She means Athos.  Lucien stares at the tray, uncovers the dishes and eats.

He is saddling Jaaden when Athos and Aramis appear in the stable.  Athos glances at the tray of empty dishes, lifts his saddle and goes into the stall.  ‘We thought to take the same route as we did when we escaped with the Queen.  If there is another message within the message that we are to understand, we might as well repeat the events as they happened.’

Lucien nods cautiously.  Aramis is preparing his horse and addresses Lucien saying, “Unless you have an alternative perspective on our current actions.”

‘The only thought I have is to get to the monastery and find Alessandra,’ Lucien says firmly. ‘That is all I want out of this.’

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Their pace is slow.  The path is narrow, winding through rocky outcroppings before it descends into a thick forest… Aramis sees the past unfold in his mind …

…  the Queen was crouched before him on the saddle, bracketed between his arms as he rode as fast as he dared on the dangerous route they were forced to take.  She gripped the pommel, gasping as bullets ricocheted off trees and rocks, her narrow shoulders hunching against the shower of sharp rocky shards, the others returning fire.  D’ Artagnan ranged to the back to track their pursuers’ progress.  They were forced to slow when crossing a winding stream in several places…they were running with no clear direction, no time to stop and deliberate a path to safety.  He could hear the drumming thunder of many horses and knew there was a sizeable force determined to catch them … to kill the Queen…

He remembers a passing thought in those moments … why kill the Queen?  Who had hired these men?  It was fleeting, he had no time to ponder it.  He had a job to do, they all did, and they put themselves to the task.

‘Here we are,’ Athos announces.  A broad green meadow is spread before them, enclosed on three sides by forest.  At the far end is a high rocky bluff, covered with shrubs and thick trees.  At the top, glimpsed through the greenery is a stone building, ramparts overlooking the meadow.  It is recognizable in its shape and tall spire as a monastery.  Le Bourbon-les- eaux.

Lucien opens a spyglass and scans the battlements.  He passes it to Athos. ‘I do not see anyone,’ he comments.  Athos nods in agreement.  Still, they advance to the side of the meadow where they can quickly take cover in the trees.   At the base of the hillside, they stop and dismount, crouching as they move through the trees.  Lucien surveys the battlements again, listening for sounds of men on watch or patrol.  Aramis shakes his head, signaling that there is no evidence of men waiting for them.

They return to their horses, Lucien vaults into the saddle, ‘I will ride in.’  Athos quickly lays a restraining hand on Jaaden, ‘no.  We all go.’

‘Wait and see,’ Lucien advises with a wry smile, ‘if they shoot me, then you will know to take a different approach.’

‘Tempting,’ Aramis quips swinging into the saddle, ‘but not going to happen.’ He steers his horse decisively around Jaaden and takes the lead. 

The road rises and widens.  They ride through an open gate into the open yard littered with weeds, broken pieces of scrap wood and rusting tools. There is a general sense of disuse, no trampling of the ground by horses or booted men. A wagon with a missing wheel is leaning against a small stable. Next to it is a two-wheeled cart that appears aged and weathered.  A boy runs out, a brush still in his hand, eyes wide.  At the same time, a door from the monastery opens and a nun appears, equally startled at their presence.

‘It’s our weapons,’ Lucien murmurs to Athos.  Aramis steps forward, bowing and removing his hat, ‘Sister, may I introduce myself and my companions.  I am the Duc d’ Herblay, at your service Sister.  May I introduce the Duc d’ Richelieu and the Duc d’ Plessis.  We have ridden from Glenay and bring greetings from the Duchesse d’ Aiguillon.’

‘The Duchesse is a most pious and kind lady.  She is a generous patron,’ the nun cried and turned to point up, ‘we are dry inside this winter thanks to her generosity.  The roof no longer leaks.’  She beamed at the three men who smile in return.  

‘That is a blessing,’ Aramis agrees. ‘May I have the honor of addressing you by name Sister?’

‘‘Forgive me Your Grace, I am Sister Terese,’ the nun remembers her manners, ‘what brings Your Graces to our humble door?’  

‘We are looking for a woman, perhaps injured, for whom we have reason to believe may have been brought here.’

‘A woman?’ the nun replies, eyes roving over all three men.  Several more Sisters hurry from the monastery.  ‘There is no one here but us.’ She indicates the nuns behind her. 

‘This is all of you?’ Aramis is astonished.  ‘No, Your Grace,’ Sister Terese hastily replies, ‘our number varies, but there are twenty Carmelite Sisters here. I meant, there is no woman staying with us, injured or not.’

‘I see,’ Aramis glances at Athos with a sad shake of his head.  Athos drops his eyes suppressing his disappointment.   Aramis looks at Sister Terese thoughtfully, ‘have you had visitors recently? Strangers to you perhaps?’

Sister Terese looks regretful, ‘no, Your Grace.  We have been on our own, except for a few local people well known to us.  They help chop wood and bring a little from their own tables to help us.’

‘We have been here before, years ago,’ Aramis says, indicating Athos, ‘may we come inside?’  Athos turns to Lucien, who has already climbing the narrow stone steps leading to the ramparts overlooking the meadow.  Athos follows Aramis inside. 

‘There was a Sister Helene here that I remember from my visit years ago,’ Aramis says in a conversational tone, ‘she … she was from my village, I knew her as Isabel.  It was a surprise to find the brandy made in the still in the storage room bore a remarkable resemblance to my father’s recipe.’  Aramis does not include any details of that past visit. He mocks a conspiratorial smile, ‘I hope you are continuing to make that exceptional brandy.’ 

Sister Terese laughs, ‘I regret I never knew our Sister Helene from those years.  The recipe she used has been passed down and the brandy is much prized on market day.’  Aramis smiles, ‘we shall want to purchase a quantity to take with us Sister.’

‘The rooms will look much the same,’ Sister Terese says as she leads the way through the downstairs room, ‘we have made a few improvements…’   Her voice drifts away as she and Aramis move farther away.  Athos walks to a window, remembering the blast and smoke of pistols, men trying to break into the monastery.  Lucien is on the battlements, staring out at the treetops and meadow beyond.  He watches his brother for a moment and then strides from the room.  Outside, he goes up the steeps stone steps to the battlements and stands next to Lucien looking out over the meadow and deep forest. Lucien breaks the silence.

‘Gallager was a commander in the Irish Confederacy,’ Lucien says quietly not looking at Athos.  ‘He was responsible for many successful attacks against the English.  Gallagher was a good man, but Cromwell’s brutality, the massacre at Drogheda changed him.  He was betrayed by an Irish Royalist and there was a substantial bounty on his head.  Gallagher’s father forced him to leave Ireland.  Many of his men followed him.’

‘They remained loyal to him?’ Athos asks, ‘enough to leave to leave their own country.’

‘Yes,’ Lucien replies, ‘he was that kind of leader. ‘In time, he recruited more men into a larger mercenary force. But they were not soldiers, mostly local street thugs from Paris.  He complained he couldn’t turn them into an organized fighting force, but in time he had as many as forty or fifty men.  Gallagher and his men worked for me protecting my routes into Paris and other cities to the south. Gallagher was an excellent marksman.’  Lucien pauses, then says, ‘I understood that he did not miss.’

‘The Queen’s maid borrowed the robe.’

‘Both unfortunate … and lucky for more than the Queen.’  Athos frowns, ‘it was Alessandra who hired Gallagher to assassinate the Queen.’

‘You ask me again although you already know this,’ Lucien turns to look directly at Athos. ‘How much can it matter that it was not me? It is likely I have carried out orders given to Benito by Richelieu.  If not this one, then others.’

Athos meets Lucien’s eyes, ‘it matters.  The Queen’s death would have been no ordinary death.’ 

‘No, it would not,’ Lucien sighs heavily. ‘Alessandra knew it. The murder of a Queen would result in turning France inside out to find the assassins and all those with any association. I could not ignore that either.’

‘But you said you were not involved!’ 

‘I wasn’t.  But how long in the dungeons of the Chatelet would a man or woman last before giving up the notorious name of Lucien Grimaud.  What was my fate when it was discovered that the man who tried, or heaven forbid succeeded, to kill the Queen worked for me protecting my smuggling routes.  It would not have ended with me. There were others who would have been ensnared.’

‘Constance,’ Athos blows out a breath, ‘good heavens.’

‘Yes,’ Lucien says, ‘Constance and she by extension, would give Richelieu fuel to feed his hatred for Treville and the musketeers. He could have twisted the entire rescue as part of the plot.’

‘No one would have believed it,’ Athos counters.  Lucien scoffs, ‘you know how the people can rise up in hysteria.  Our father was brilliant at stoking the fires of political frenzy.’  Athos visibly reacts and Lucien rubs his face tiredly, ‘that is why she came to me.’

‘You said it was to stop Gallagher, but Treville and the musketeers saved the Queen.’

Lucien points to the meadow, ‘how many men were pursuing you?’

‘I counted at least ten keeping line as they rode.  Soldiers.’

‘There were twice as many coming through the trees,’ Lucien says, pointing to the thick forest bordering the meadow.  ‘How many men did you kill?  How many broke into the monastery?’ Lucien asks. 

Athos frowns, ‘less than the number I had counted.  I assumed when Treville arrived, some fled.’  He glances at Lucien, ‘did you know he shot one his own men?  We met under parlay.  Gallagher shot his man for not killing me.’

‘Yes,’ Lucien says, ‘after that, it was easy to convince his men to leave.  They lost faith in his command.  Gallagher, however, refused.  He would not take the money I offered.  He gave his word and that was all that mattered to him.’  Lucien shakes his head, ‘perhaps he had no heart left.  A tragedy on all sides. But, for the rest, Treville did get there in time.  He followed the money and figured out the rest.’   

‘What do you mean?  Treville knew before d’Artagnan and Porthos arrived for help?’ 

Lucien shrugs, ‘he knew.’

‘You sent Treville a message didn’t you.’

‘Not me,’ Lucien says quietly and watches a stunning realization pass over Athos stern features.

‘Alessandra,’ he whispers.  Lucien nods, ‘yes. A simple message – ‘follow the money’ and the name of this place.   Alessandra knew her life was at risk.  She saw Richelieu’s deft hand in the orchestration of it, setting up Mellendorf, a perfect foil if it went wrong.  Mellendorf was overheard by too many, bragging about his grandsons.  Richelieu saw the King was flirtatious with Charlotte Mellendorf and later he heard the King’s complaints about his wife.  Richelieu thought he understood what Louis wanted.  Although, it was also convenient for him to believe the King gave him an order.  Mellendorf played a dangerous game and should have read Richelieu better, because if a plan was launched and failed, Mellendorf was the obvious scapegoat for Richelieu to place the blame.’

Lucien pauses, ‘Alessandra was frightened that Richelieu had the means to place her at the center of it.’

‘Because of the money.’

‘Yes, Richelieu told her to set up the pay receipts with a moneylender. There are two ways to do that, one with coin, and the other with a promissory note to the moneylender to pay off in coin. Of course, Richelieu gave her a bag of coin, not wanting a paper trail back to him. That is when she came to me.’

Athos looks puzzled and Lucien smiles.  ‘The Royal Court is made up of bureaucrats, men who spend their years creating and curating their records – stacks of them in bookcases filling entire rooms.  They have a religious fervor in recording and accounting every minute detail of their office. The treasury has many such men, with barricades erected between them to prevent collusion or organized embezzlement.  It is a perfect setup for an enterprising privateer who is often paid in merchandise or coin. I took the bag to an accountant I dealt with and traded it for a promissory note with the King’s seal on it, minus a few coins for his trouble.  That is what the moneylender used to issue the pay receipts to Gallagher’s men.’

‘Alessandra killed the moneylender. She took the promissory note from his office.’

‘He would have exposed her and me.  I kept the promissory note.  If he looked, he did not find it.  If he killed her, there was a chance whoever had it would expose him.  So, our enterprising father made a convincing show of turning over every stone to find those guilty of the attempt against the Queen’s life.  He forced Mellendorf to sign a confession to save his daughter and that was the end of it.’

Athos is silent and Lucien chuckles, ‘in case you think I make excuses for my actions, I do not.  I saw the danger to myself.  I acted to protect me, my organization and my people.  I make no apology.’

‘You protected Alessandra too.’

‘I always have protected her, when she allows it, and I always will.’

‘Who is that?’  Lucien and Athos turn at Aramis’ voice.  He points toward the meadow.  Riders are crossing its expanse at a rapid pace.  ‘That’s Jasper, Martin’s brother!’ Lucien says, astonished. 

‘And Tomaso, one of Gasparo’s men,’ Athos adds, worried – Bianca.  ‘Something bad has happened at Glenay.’