A scream …
Athos’ voice booms through the house…
‘Lucien! Lucien! Come quickly! She is here!’
The doctor talks as he leads the way, “she is disoriented and tries to escape the house.” Lucien scowls …then why is she left alone? … but he says nothing, only wanting the doctor to move faster and when the doctor turns into the corridor Lucien brushes past him and races toward light spilling from a doorway, bursting into the room to an abrupt stop. It is not what he expected. Athos leans over a bed, talking softly. The room is pleasantly warm from a brisk fire in the grate, a fresh scent of pine and clean linen. Heavy drapes keep out the cold, partly drawn to let in a thin stream of dawn light. Dr Guenaud shoulders past Lucien, speaking in soothing tones as he approaches the bed. Lucien steps around Athos tucking in a blanket around her slight form, a hand exposed, papery and pale, her wrist bruised from the ropes used on her. The doctor is explaining his presence to Athos who is absorbed with his task, but Lucien turns in shock when he hears …His Majesty… what devil was at work here… the King…? He looks at Athos who seems not to have heard or decided not to understand the unimaginable and solely focus on Alessandra. The doctor notes Lucien’s expression and stops abruptly.
“What is her condition,” Lucien’s tone is terse to the point of offensive, but the doctor nods and speaks directly to him. “Her lungs are infected, her hair was shorn to reduce fever, useless quackery, her vision impaired. I am sure she was kept for a prolonged period in a completely dark place, more than expected from a dungeon, more like an oubliette. Remarkably, the child is strong. She is a courageous woman.” Athos swore under his breath.
Lucien’s frown deepens… fool … that is exactly what she is doing now, as she had done her entire captivity … no her entire life… summoning her anger to bolster her fragile strength to escape, fight back, and now to protect her unborn child. You may be a good doctor, but you do not know her true character. Passivity is not within her. Lucien does not realize he is muttering his thoughts aloud until the doctor turns to face him, astonished and clearly exasperated.
“We need to leave this place,” Lucien speaks urgently to Athos and then moves quickly to search the room, opening a door into a closet probably used by the nurse and another door on the opposite side leading into a larger chamber for the doctor. He glances again down the corridor straining to hear any sound to indicate the arrival of guards. Only silence. Athos turns slightly and Lucien moves into his line of sight, his voice quiet, “we must go.” He sets a hand on Athos’ arm.
It is the doctor’s turn to be terse, “she is too ill to venture far, and the exertion is too much for her. Besides, I doubt that she knows where she is or recognizes anyone. This is serious, Your Grace… please consider…“
“We are taking her from this infernal house now,” Athos growls before the physician had a chance to finish his sentence. “But Your Grace, she should not be moved…” Dr. Guenaud was appealing to Lucien who shakes his head decisively. “You marveled at her resilience and courage a moment ago, doctor. I am of the same mind. Help my brother move her safely. I will meet you in the front.” To Athos he says, “I will find a carriage.”
“There is a fine carriage here,” the doctor capitulates. “It is how we were brought here.”
“I will check for guards and bring the carriage.” Lucien hesitates to say more. Athos turns to look directly at him for a long moment. Lucien lays his gloved hand to his brother’s cheek, glances again at Alessandra’s still form. He wants to take her hand, kiss her cheek, whisper she is safe, they are here and will take her to Bianca. Instead, he leaves.
The house is eerily silent, the dawn light filtering through the many windows is wavering and ghostly thin. There is no low chatter of servants, no voices echoing down a corridor, no cloak thrown carelessly over a chair or table. He walls watch him as he hurries from room to room, checking wardrobes, behind drapes, probing the hidden doors into secret corridors. The air is stale and his boots thud against bare floors. He returns to the kitchen, douses the light and opens the door just enough to slip through. Wind moves through the trees, night birds exchange songs with day birds, an owl hoots once more to dawn. Across a small park is a stable, a hut attached at one end, smoke drifting from a chimney. He crouches low and hurries to the stable door, easing it open to step inside, sword in one hand, pistol in the other.
A tall man sits on a stool, a halter in his hands, the horse in the stall resting his big head on the man’s shoulder, nickers softly at Lucien’s appearance. The man’s hands still, his eyes wide and then dart past Lucien who whirls and barely stops in time. A young girl carrying a small tray, her eyes wide, looks down to the sword at her neck.
“Please M,” the man stands up, “do not harm her.”
Lucien lowers the sword, and indicates the child should join the man, who pushes her behind him. “How many others are here.” A trickle of sweat runs down Lucien’s back. He had almost decapitated a child.
“Now, only two. But they left earlier.”
“When will they come back? How many horses?”
“They do not tell me. There are four horses now.” The man hesitates, “there is a carriage.”
Lucien jerks his head toward the cottage, indicating that the child should return to it. Her father speaks quietly and the girl dashes past Lucien, through the open door and slams it shut. “Now, show me the carriage,” Lucien orders.
Rochefort’s carriage is large, well sprung, opulent with details of fine wood, silks and velvet coverings over interior walls, benches and window curtains. The interior is both elegant and plush with comfortable seats. The presence of a wide platform, fully covered with a thick mattress extending across both the front and rear benches, is unexpected, designed to transport a reclining person. There is still room for two people to sit. No expenses spared. Lucien closes the door and notices the crest adorning the door. He makes a short guttural laugh in disbelief and contempt. He wonders if Athos will notice it.
“Shall I help with the harnessing?” Lucien whirls, cursing his inattention. A man is standing in dim dawn light holding the reins of a powerful stallion. He is tall, well built, radiating the physical confidence of an experienced military man. He is dressed in the clothes of a foreign mercenary, his voice deep and with a touch of irony. Radu.
For a long moment, the two men regard each other steadily. “Well,” Radu turns his head to his horse, “may M Lyam take my faithful Perun for a good rubdown and his oats? He does not need to be part of what happens next does he?”
Lucien steps aside for M Lyam to take the horse into the stable. Radu smiles, “thank you, I see we share a commitment to our horses.”
“We share nothing,” Lucien snarls, his fingers twitching as he grips his sword. Radu notices, he raises his hands slowly, his fingers spread. A long cloak is thrown over his broad shoulders revealing his lack of weapons. “You would attack an unarmed man?”
“No matter to me that you failed to arm yourself.”
“I thought better of you,” Radu mocks astonishment.
“Then you confuse me with my brother,” Lucien is amused, “although I am not sure you can depend on his superior character these days.” He addresses the stableman, “bring the horses. I am taking this carriage.”
“Shall I help with the harnessing?” Radu takes the two bridles and moves the horses into position. “I assume you want to leave as quickly as possible.”
Lucien watches Radu and mocks astonishment. “Are your men among the trees on the road leading away from this place? You stand here, all innocence with no weapons, but where have you hidden your army?”
“No one will interfere with you. On that you have my word.”
“Well … your word… or do you offer your master’s word? That should count for something, but as you must expect by now…” Lucien’s tone drips sarcasm and gestures with his sword, “this is the only truth you and I understand.”
The stableman brings the second pair and Radu maneuvers them into place, buckling traces and threading the reins up to the bench. “And yet it is at my master’s command that I have rescued the lady from a terrible imprisonment and fate at Saintonge. She is here, with a capable physician, in luxury and comfort. No guards, no bars on the windows, ample food and wood for the fires. I have protected you and your family for some time now.”
Lucien barks a sarcastic laugh, “would you care to explain that remark?”
“You could have died at Burron Malotte, but did not…”
“Your cowardly master vanished through the window to escape me, and you could not back up fast enough from my brother’s sword.”
“We chose not to engage.”
“Very wise of you M Radu and your craven master.”
“The children might have perished on the road to Glenay had they not come upon a house from which to take shelter from a storm.” Radu speaks rapidly over Lucien, ignoring his outburst.
“You claim some prescience on that matter? Did you send the men who attacked them and then be conveniently close for a rescue? And let me not forget the warm stew and stoked fires magically ready for them.” Lucien’s voice drips with sarcasm and disbelief. “You outdid yourself on that one.”
Again, Radu ignores Lucien’s provocations, seeming to consider his next words carefully. “I did not kidnap or intend harm to your daughter.”
Lucien’s anger flares hot, he snarls, “to which daughter do you refer? You and your men have been diligent in many offenses against my family.”
Radu makes a thoughtful nod, “let us not argue now. Shall I drive the carriage to the front of the house. Your brother may need assistance. I assure you that the road will be clear.”
Lucien waits for Radu to settle on the bench and then climbs up next to him. Radu clicks his tongue and the horses move slowly on a path leading to the front of the house. Lucien leans back against the side rail, his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
They reach the front of the house. The doctor opens the carriage door, and Athos comes out carrying Alessandra. He looks at Radu and then at Lucien who shakes his head signaling he will explain later – if any of the circumstances in this house and be explained. He pokes Radu in the ribs.
“Perhaps, as you claim a beneficent intention, I will stay behind to browse the contents of the documents I found here.”
Radu’s smile dims, “that would be,” he paused to choose the right word …unwelcome.”
“M Radu you are always unwelcome. However, I shall grant you a small beneficence to vanish quickly.”
⚜️ ⚜️⚜️⚜️
As they drive through the Glenay gates, Lucien steps down the back of the carriage and jumps to the ground, the carriage moving on to the front of the house. He is startled that the first person running down the stairs is Raoul. Sophia is already hurrying toward him, and then she is within his arms, whispering, “at last.” He kisses her and holds her hard against him. “Alessandra?” she asks. He nods, “in the carriage.” Another kiss before he releases her, takes her hand and walks to where the carriage has stopped. Marie, her house steward and housekeeper in tow, passes Athos as he is leaning into the carriage to lift out Alessandra. She speaks to Dr Guenaud, her servants listening carefully to his orders. “Everything will be as you require M.” Sophia squeezes Lucien’s hand and quickens her pace to go with Marie into the house. He walks slowly to the carriage to manage any task required.
“Lucien.” He turns at the familiar voice, embracing Yusuf, “you are a welcome sight.”
“How is Madame?” Together, they watch Athos carefully extricate his wife from the carriage and carry her into the house. “Alessandra has suffered,” Lucien replies, “the doctor is capable.” Lucien claps an affectionate hand on Yusuf’s shoulder, “there is no shortage here of proficient healers to assist him.”
“Raoul arrived today,” Yusuf says. “As I see,” Lucien replies as Raoul turns to catch his eye, “Lucien, we need to talk.”
“I make myself available to you whenever you wish.”
⚜️ ⚜️⚜️⚜️
The library once belonged to Marie’s father, Lucien’s maternal grandfather, René de Vignerot, Seigneur de Pontcourlay. It was a large spacious room lined with bookshelves stuffed with books on many topics, most to do with horses and cavalry. There were several seating arrangements that could accommodate a sizeable number of people. The Seigneur was fond of hosting large hunting parties of thirty or more nobleman from the court over several weeks at a time. His library was an elegant refuge for men to gather, drink wine or spirits, congratulate each other as they boast of their hunting prowess or other issues of their time.
The Seigneur’s books could still be found on the bookshelves, now crammed within more recent additions. The room held map cases, trunks containing treasures collected from foreign places and more scrolled maps and thick Turkish carpets cover the floor. Lucien pours wine into glasses for Porthos, Afonso and d’Artagnan. Athos shakes his head at the proffered glass, pacing between the windows, randomly picking objects and setting them down, fingers running over the spines of books. The others settle into chairs close to the fireplace, waiting for the footman to finish building a robust fire. “Thank you,” Lucien murmurs as the man bows and leaves the room, closing the door with a soft click. Porthos glances at a restive Athos and then begins, “let us bring you to our current understanding of our situation as Raoul explained it earlier. It bears on our future and what we do next.”
“I cannot stay,” Athos interrupts after a few more restless moments. “Lucien knows what has transpired, how we found Alessandra, and will speak in my stead. I trust your decisions about what must be done next.”
Lucien jumps to his feet to accompany Athos to the door and says quietly for him alone, “I will come soon.” He watches Athos walk away and then returns to his chair. “Let us attend to this problem first and then I can answer other questions. Suffice to say that Alessandra has suffered grievously and is very ill. We found … she was…” he stops, unable to speak in a reasoned tone. Lucien blows out a breath and takes a long drink, calming his anger and turns to the immediate problem.
“So, we are not yet clear of trouble.”
“Raoul is concerned that the King may decide to pursue the disappearance of Henri Bernard and his mother, Agnes. Should that occur, our distance from Paris would not ensure our safety.” D’Artagnan sees Lucien’s worried expression, correctly reassuring him, “there is nothing to connect Layla and Rohan. Raoul considers them safe.”
“That is something at least,” Lucien blows out a breath.
“We should prepare for it, even if only a possibility.” Porthos takes charge, “the castle is well designed for defense. I suggest Lucien, that you know the building and the stonemasons. Survey the walls and battlements and get repairs underway.”
Lucien nods his agreement. “We need someone to ride out the villages. It should be someone they know and trust. Her Grace will want the people warned and to board up their homes and businesses. We must bring the closest farmers and their families here for their protection. An infirmary must be prepared.”
“Good,” Porthos replies, “I will discuss our tactics with Gasparo and Martin. We need a thorough assessment of our weapons.”
“I will do that,” d’ Artagnan says and turns to Afonso, “in addition to the weapons we have, Afonso told me there is a storage room with slings, long bows, arrows, crossbows and bolts. Even pikes and cauldrons.”
“The weapons are in good condition,” Afonso says, “if we have archers among the men. Pikes can be very useful, but the cauldrons sound rather medieval.”
Porthos grunts, “I hope you uncover a cannon or two.”
Lucien stares at Porthos, his eyes gleaming with the possibility, “what a good idea. We could bring light cannon from the Aigle,” Lucien taps his chin thoughtfully, “even a 4 pounder can travel up to a mile and do some damage. One ox can pull the weight…”
“Two oxen could go faster,” Afonso interjects eagerly, “there is a good cove and the Aigle has the draft for it, it would shorten the distance to here considerably…”
Lucien narrows his eyes as he sees a map in his mind and does the calculations. He exchanges a sinister smile with Afonso, “Marchal will not expect us to have one.”
“You are the man for this dubious mission,” Porthos chuckles, “I like it.”
Twelve Years After 