Chapter Thirty-four, Bitter Victory, by Corso

‘Where is Alessandra?’, ‘… in hell where she belongs.. your whore … tossed over a cliff… rotting… food for the crows and vultures…you all failed…she laughs victorious, vindictive in his face ……black, cold rage surges, Lucien grips her neck tighter… a tiny increment of pressure and he will crush her neck, her eyes are swiveling to his … you feel that yet bitch?  The room is silent, but he hears them … she is a woman … no!.. she is a demon he can destroy …

Behind him, the soft sound of someone clearing his throat … he knows it is Yusuf sending him a message … no kardes, not this…

He loosens his grip, Catherine sidles away, and he tracks her with hot rage filled eyes, she slumps to the floor wailing.  ‘Take her!’ Infuriated, Lucien shoves Catherine at Yusuf, ‘Loup will know what to do with her!’ Yusuf clamps one hand over Catherine’s mouth, she fights against him trying to hit and scratch him with her other hand.  Loup appears and pins her flailing arm, she screams at him, ‘let me go brute!’ 

 Lucien laughs hollowly, ‘warn the Dog’s Head that she barks and bites.’  He leans menacingly into Catherine’s face, ‘his hospitality will be in equal measure to your own Madame. Make no mistake, I will have answers.’

They haul her unceremoniously from the room.  Lucien hears Crotte’s evil laugh as his men take Catherine away.  The nun is still cowering on the other side of the room, weeping softly.  He walks to her, crouching down and blows out a steady breath, ‘you are safe now Sister. We are from Glenay.’  She peers cautiously at him, perhaps recognizing the home of the trustworthy Duchess d’ Aiguillon.  He nods encouragingly and repeats, ‘you are safe now.’  He glances at Gasparo who is nearby.  He bows to the nun, takes her arm gently to help her stand and escorts her from the room.  Raoul is talking to Athos in a low voice.  Raoul tilts his head toward the door to indicate they are leaving the room. 

The inevitable lassitude that follows a battle is settling over him.  He forces his legs, heavy as lead to move, if he stops, he might not be able to start again. He walks with Athos, whose silence is dark, encompassing and impenetrable.  Lucien does not try, although there are things he wants to say, as while his body threatens to betray him, his mind is assembling Catherine’s crazy ramblings into some order that he can sort through, consider or reject outright. They step over piles of debris, congealing blood and dead bodies.  Lucien glances at faces, wondering how many of their men have been lost.  He recognizes a few of Comminges’ men and then his memory offers up a face, but not a name. A man who had taken Alessandra from Bragelonne, a trail they had followed to a battered carriage, bloody and abandoned in a ravine.  He wonders if that man is here. 

The room they enter Is a library, Porthos and d’ Artagnan sitting at a table, Aramis is uncorking a bottle and filling glasses.  Lucien accepts the tankard of wine d’ Artagnan offers and sits down close to the fireplace, leaning his sword against a wall.  He rubs his face, blinking hard against the demand to sleep.  He watches Athos, standing in front of the fire, his back to them.  Raoul sits close to him, his eyes focused on his father.  Lucien studies his nephew for a moment and leans forward, speaking so softly that only Raoul can hear him … what cliffs? Raoul swings his eyes to him and Lucien sees something he never expected to see in the eyes of Raoul … he makes a small smile …  perhaps they will speak later …

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The yard is quiet, except for the usual workers trundling carts with garden tools, materials to repair outbuildings, or guards moving from one post to another.  A boy rakes layers of sand into small potholes to prevent puddles from forming.  It is an unusually warm day, the sun is shining in a pale blue cloudless sky, a faint breeze rustling the bare branches of trees. Spring is not far away, she remembers another time when the air was warming … carriages lined up in the yard… …servants carrying trunks and bags, the children excited, rushing through their rooms to gather up  toys and favorite books…she can hear Bianca’s voice calling her daughter to help her collect her brushes and paints, carry canvasses to the waiting carriage,  her husband packing up his books and papers to take to his little study in their summer house, overlooking the quiet blue green waters of the ocean cove.  Lucien running after his brother …  they would soon depart from Glenay to the seashore for the summer…

 Where are they?  Afonso has been gone for almost two days.  Could her sons still be at Saintonge or did Afonso find them on the road?  She has a flash of impatience as she has no answers to these questions.  She blows out a breath.

‘Your Grace?’ 

She startles, so absorbed in her own thoughts to forget Father Massey who has been reading letters to her from the missions in New France.  Supply problems, local resistance, even a few Puritans – the list is endless.

‘Apologies Enemond,’ she turns.  ‘I am sorely distracted today.’  The priest puts the letter on top of the stack and picks up the psalter, ‘shall I read instead?’

‘I think I shall walk a little,’ she replies with an apologetic smile.  ‘Shall I accompany you Madame?’  he asks although he knows the answer.

Marie goes down the stairs to the galleries, walking slowly among the portraits of her ancestors, the same faces Athos had studied so carefully.  Did he see any similarity or a feature that was familiar?  Lucien was not curious about his family legacy, his interest stopped with her.  Oliv… no, he is now Athos. Perhaps because Athos was the eldest, and was raised with a family’s belief in their legacy.  His adopted father had loved him as his own.  Athos had been given the Hauteclere sword, an inheritance from a loving family that he may now wonder if he ever truly belonged to or even deserved.

‘Riders Your Grace,’ the house steward M Mael announces from the end of the gallery.  ‘M Afonso rode ahead to alert us.  The others are close behind him.’ 

 ‘Inform Mmes d’Artagnan and du Vallon.  Send Alice to me.  I will see the Duchess myself,’ Marie takes one last look at her father’s portrait and leaves the room.

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‘Riders!’  Alice gasps from running to deliver the news to her mistress.  ‘M Afonso has returned Madame and Her Grace says the others are very close.’  

Sophia de la Croix turns from the window, her baby son Asim nestled in her arms, wide eyed at Alice’s dramatic entrance.  He smiles broadly and holds out his arms to one of his favorites. 

‘Kom hier kleintje,’ Alice croons in her native language and takes the child into her arms. ‘The men are returning Madame,’ she adds for emphasis. ‘Thank you Alice,’ Sophia smiles at her maid’s enthusiasm.  Sophia kisses Asim’s cheek as Marie appears in the doorway.  ‘I see my herald has already arrived,’ she says lightly, kissing Asim’s cheek and then his twin brother murmuring, ‘hello my sweet boys.’   

‘Shall we?’ Sophia tucks Marie’s arm under hers and the two women leave the nursery.  In the entry way, the front door is open, footmen, M Mael and Madame Rollard are already there.  ‘Your Grace,’ Madame Rollard addresses Marie, ‘their valets have been alerted, water is being heated, fresh linens on their way to their chambers.  Cook is ready to prepare trays as needed.’

‘Thank you Madame Rollard,’ Marie says graciously, ‘ten steps ahead as usual.’  

A trickle of men, scouts and outriders, arrive. Then, the earth trembles with the thunder of many horses, dust rising as tired horses and men grow to a steady stream into the central yard.   Shouts go up from the stablemaster ordering the grooms and stable boys, as men dismount, untie their travel bags and walk wearily to their barracks. The mood is somber.  Horses are led away to the stables as more riders arrive.  Marie scans anxiously for Lucien and Athos.  Sophia squeezes her arm still tucked against her side, reassuring, ‘Lucien will be among the men, he does not ride at the front.’

‘No carriage,’ Marie murmurs.  Constance and Elodie arrive.  A surge of men rides in fast through the gates, Lucien, Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d’ Artagnan among them. Rayya scans the faces – but does not see Olivain.  Her frown deepens.

Constance and Elodie make soft cries of relief and rush to meet their husbands as they dismount.  Marie urges Sophia forward, ‘I will wait here.’  She watches her son untie his pack, looking for Sophia.   Marie sees his dark expression, lines of sleeplessness around his eyes and mouth. Athos is already striding toward the house. 

Aramis pauses beside Lucien,  ‘we should talk.  Meet in the library in an hour.’  Lucien nods, watching Sophia walk toward him.

Marie smiles gamely at her eldest son, ‘welcome back.’  He nods and his eyes say everything he does not.  Lucien is behind him, holding Sophia’s hand.  Afonso and Suzanne walk beside Rayya,  speaking quietly and her worried brow clears slightly.  Athos takes the opportunity to step aside and continue into the house.  Lucien kisses her cheek, ‘thank Heaven you are safe,’ Marie murmurs, frowning, ‘she was not there?’

‘No.’

She purses her lips, grimacing at this news.   ‘Go, you look exhausted,’ Marie urges him, ‘we will speak later.’

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The fire in the library warms the room.  They are scattered in chairs or settees, drinking wine and picking food from a substantial tray M Mael brought in.  Lucien swirls wine and stares into his glass.  He does not need to look at Athos, standing silent in front of the fire, to understand his mood.   He wonders why Athos has come to the library, or why he is still here.  A corner of his mouth twitches as his brother finds a reason to leave, ‘I will see if Petite is still asleep.’   Lucien raises his eyes, exchanging an imperceptible look with his brother and then Athos is gone.  

He listens to Porthos, d’ Artagnan and Aramis ‘… there was always Athos…The one who would never lose his cool…we must all be there for him…he will not let us…

He knows the meaning of their words but the application to his brother does not feel right.  He understands Athos’ thinking and why he retreats to his daughter – the touchstone of his life in this moment.  Children have a way of clarifying a father’s truth, within their innocence strands of instinct and intellect can weave an idea, find resolve to push through a miasma of lies and mistakes intended to blind.  Strength and purpose flows.  These men love Athos deeply and believe they know him well.  But at this moment, not well enough.

He listens, offers a few comments and watches Raoul.  ‘I am not convinced she is dead either,’ Raoul’s words bring him back to the room … ‘she made no sense.’  He feels Raoul’s eyes on him and looks directly at him saying, ‘misdirecting is what they have been doing all along and they are still doing it.’  Is that what you are doing Raoul?  What happened to Thomas?  Where is Olivain?  He will ask none of these questions aloud – he does not share his thoughts so easily.

D’ Artagnan starts talking of their first acquaintance with Catherine, a long, tangled story of vengeance.  Lucien leans closer to Raoul, speaking softly only for his hearing, ‘I ask again…over what cliffs did you throw him?’  Raoul’s eyes are opaque, and he makes the barest of shrugs.  Lucien makes a wry chuckle and leans back. 

A thought comes to him, as clear in his mind as if Alessandra were in front of him, speaking with characteristic impatience as she often did with him, ‘Lucien … do not hold your secrets so close … tell him what you already know…”

A sharp pang bursts in his chest as she comes fully into his mind… they were both young and she needed his help… green eyes, mischievous, angry, sympathetic eyes, tossing her black curls with impatience, pointing a finger at him with some chastisement … he almost laughed aloud, happy at the ghostly image of her. They worried for each other, she passed him forbidden messages from Sophia, they teased they were long separated twins… I know you live he whispers … we will find you …

He looks at the other men ‘I may not know him as you do, but I do know Alessandra.’   He speaks directly to Raoul, ‘if your father says she is alive, then I too say that too.’ 

He gets up, sets his glass down and faces Raoul, ‘we have work to do.’

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Soft footfalls from the other end of the gallery.  Athos knows her step and stands.  Marie walks towards him, ‘I thought I might find you here…well…’ she gestures to the portrait of her father, ‘not exactly here.’  She looks quizzically at Athos, ‘do you see…  a familiarity?’

‘There is something in his expression,’ Athos says taking her hand to help her sit on the bench.  He lowers himself next to her. 

‘He was a kind father,’ Marie says quietly, ‘often away at court, and after my mother died…’  her voice fades away.  ‘But my brother and I were happy here for many years.’  They sit together in silence.

‘I do not know what happened,’ she says simply, ‘Lucien only said Alessandra was not there.’  She turns to look at Athos whose head is bowed.  Without thinking she lifts her hand and rests it lightly on his shoulder.

‘What did the people who took her say to you?’ 

He hesitates slightly.  ‘That she was dead.  We … I was too late.’ 

‘Hmm,’ she murmurs, ‘what will you tell Bianca?’  He shakes his head, but then in a clear tone he answers her, ‘I will say that travel is challenging during winter. In the spring, the roads will be better.’

‘So, you do not believe their story,’ Marie says, ‘you either do not find them credible or you have other reasons to have faith that she lives.  This is not over, so are you considering what to do next?  What does your brother say?’   

‘I have not spoken with Lucien,’ he admits, ‘I do not know what he believes.’  His mother sits back on the seat and regards him.  ‘You do not know what your brother thinks?’ Her blue eyes are intent on his. ‘Or you do not trust what you think you know of him? Do you tell yourself that the time you have known each other as brothers has been too short for trust?’   He glances in her direction and away, not answering her.

She leans toward him again, slipping his hand between hers, ‘I will say what I believe you already feel – the bonds between you and Lucien have always been there and remain even after the absence of each other.  What is between you is unbroken, unsullied, as perfect as the day of your birth.  Trust what you know.’

Athos glances at her.  ‘Yes, I expect he is already thinking of all the holes in their story and when it is time for us to leave again, he will be ready.’  She chuckles softly, ‘I expect the same.’  Her hand rests against his cheek.  ‘What does your heart tell you about the woman you love?’ 

He is startled by her words and turns to her, searching his mother’s face and replies without hesitation, ‘she is alive.’

‘Then find her.  Bring Alessandra home to us.’

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Lucien walks along the ramparts, the cold air sharp against his face.  He hears the expected footfalls and turns around. Raoul draws next to him.

‘How was your ride?’ Lucien asks.

‘Warmer,’ Raoul replies, ‘are you not tired of the cold?’

‘Adversity focuses the mind,’ Lucien mocks an imperious tone.

‘Who said that?’

‘It is a version of something Yusuf quotes,’ Lucien replies.  ‘He is fond of his poets and philosophers.’ They walk in silence for a few minutes. ‘Can they allow Athos his solitude?’

‘They mean well,’ Raoul replies, ‘they love him.’ 

‘Hmm,’ Lucien murmurs wondering if Raoul thinks he does not love his father.  He wonders – is the feeling he has for his brother love … or not yet love, but another form of kinship born, unaltered by time or distance. 

‘I do not mean to draw a distinction,’ Raouls says. 

Lucien shrugs, ‘I do not take it as such.  They have many years together, and … I have my own way of thinking and of doing things.’

‘I saw Rayya this morning in the yard, talking with Afonso and Suzanne.’ 

‘Afonso told her whatever it was you told him to say about where Olivain was and what he was doing,’ Lucien says with a wry expression, ‘I suppose it will do for now.’

‘Good.  You asked about cliffs…’ Raoul comes to the point. 

‘I asked also about Olivain too, but let us talk of cliffs first,’ Lucien replies.  ‘The closest cliffs are at the Gironde estuary, Royan, Meschers and Suzac, a long ride from Saintonge, but it is almost a straight line.’  He feigns a tone of amazement, ‘you and Olivain were amazingly quick about getting there and back.  Or were you lucky to find a convenient ravine for Thomas.  By the way, where is Olivain?’  

‘I had the same thought about Catherine’s claim to have thrown my mother over a cliff,’ Raoul neatly steps aside Lucien’s question, ‘she was desperate to wound my father severely.’

‘And you – at least for the moment,’ Lucien added. Raoul drops his eyes, ‘yes.’

‘You told Catherine, when she asked about her son, that you had killed him with the same act – throwing him over a cliff.  The difference is that she believed you.  But you did not believe her.’

‘Yes,’ Raoul acknowledges, ‘I thought I would know if …’  his voice trails off, slightly abashed.

‘I understand,’ his uncle says gently. ‘I sent men to scour the cliffs and the rocks below from Royan to Blaye.’

‘Good,’ Raoul says, ‘I have men who can find Ballesdens. One of us should talk to the nun.’

‘We may yet get the answer from Catherine,’ Lucien says darkly, ‘the Dog’s Head does not hold notions about sparing a woman.’

‘And you Lucien?  Do you have no such scruples?’  

‘Are you asking me to consider if I am no different than Marchal?  He raised his hand to my wife, and I have already used force against Catherine.  Would I go farther?’

‘You are nothing like Marchal,’ Raoul declares.  They walk in silence for a few moments. Lucien wonders if Raoul expects him to defend himself, adopt attitudes of apology, or denial and oppose such violence.  He is a skilled liar when necessary, but he is never dishonest with himself.

‘Did Comminges have a brother?’ Lucien sidesteps Raoul’s question. ‘A musketeer, I do not recall his name,’ Lucien asks, ‘you father and I followed his trail from Bragelonne.  Do you know if he was at Saintonge?’

‘Gitaut,’ Raoul scoffs, ‘disgusting that he was ever a musketeer.  I did not see him at Saintonge, but he could have been there.’

‘He might be in Paris,’ Lucien suggests, ‘or that tavern Comminges frequented outside Bicetre.’

‘I know the one you speak of,’ Raoul nods and then grins, ‘I thought you destroyed that place, the night Agnes Bernard was rescued.’  Lucien waves a dismissive hand, ‘they have had plenty of time to rebuild.’  They chuckle quietly. 

Lucien leans on the stone rampart and looks out over the wide meadow below.  ‘I will go to the estuary and check on the progress.  I will be away for a few days, taking the Aigle to the Wrecks.’

‘The Wrecks?’

Lucien’s eyes narrow, surprised at the note of interest in Raoul’s voice.  ‘What is there?’ Raoul asks in a blander tone.

‘A ship that does not belong there,’ he answers, looking at Raoul.  ‘An old friend from Hispaniola,’ he emphasizes the word, ‘you may recall it was Hispaniola who negotiated to buy my daughter and your sister from Henri de Winter and Thomas Renard.  It is too much of a coincidence that the Belladona is so close.’

Raoul is silent, nodding thoughtfully.  Lucien turns back to stare out at the meadow. ‘The Belladona is cruising where she should not.  Whatever their purpose, it is not to my liking.’  He turns to Raoul, leaning against the rampart.

‘So, I am compelled to blow that ship out of the water.’