Chapter Sixty-seven, Festina Lente (Make Haste Slowly), by Corso

…find a balance between speed and caution, move with purpose but without recklessness

Benito d’ Soto never believed in coincidence.  Before he opens the salon door, Lucien is certain that the arrival of Constance’s mother Lucille Demare and her brother Benoit is not a social visit.  Whatever the trouble is at the Wrecks, he is certain it is connected to Rochefort and his reinstatement – whatever that may mean.  Among other quirks, Benito was also fond of scripture to Lucien, a deep knowledge that few people knew about the merciless pirate.   “The eye is the lamp of the body,”  Benito quoted Matthew, instilling in Lucien respect for that inner prickle of awareness as the eye of the mind perceived what he did not see – a slight tensing or stillness, the flicker of an eyelid, a tic at the corner of the mouth, eyes watchful or sliding away…fingers twitch…the tells are there Lucien …pay attention … misdirection is a powerful tactic…

What had he had seen?  In the library after reading Aramis’ brief but shocking message, “Rochefort has been reinstated” he had looked at the others – d’ Artagnan, Porthos, Afonso whose shocked expressions mirrored his own.  There was one other in the room.   

Raoul.  It is to him that Lucien’s mind returns repeatedly.  What had he seen?

Lucien clamps down on his mind, restless and angry. With cold and methodical precision, he surveys the damage inflicted by the sweep of Rochefort unseen hand. In criminal organizations, it is the master’s talent to keep their hands clean, leaving others to do the dirty work.   It was Henri de Winter who killed Gabriel, but it was Rochefort’s hand who guided that sword into his son. It was Gabriel enacting Rochefort’s ruthless killing spree in Italy.   In Spain, Lucien had barely glimpsed the man behind the brutal assault on his own son and Lucien’s daughter. 

But Rochefort lost control of his men when de Winter and the Thomas Renard, acting alone for their personal revenge and money, orchestrated Rayya and Bianca’ s kidnapping. Rochefort lost control again when Comminges, de Winter and the aggrieved Renards kidnapped Alessandra.  The only man Rochefort seems to truly control is the paid mercenary Radu.  There are weaknesses in Rochefort’s far-flung organization, breaches which can be exploited. Rochefort’s associates act in their own interests, boldly independent of him.  Loyalty is purchased, meaning it can be bought for a higher wage.   

In the library, D “Artagnan had broken the shocked silence and asked, “why would Louis do it?”  Lucien had also been puzzled, asking himself what does Rochefort have that the King would want?  And in a flash of insight, he knows he has made an error, one that Benito warned him about – … you are looking at tactics, but you must see strategy or you will fail – every time. 

His hands unsullied by criminal deeds allows Rochefort to disavow accusations, and for others concerned with their own ambitions, to completely ignore all of it.  Lucien cannot see the full dimension of Rochefort’s strategy, but he sees it shaping up and he is sure he understands one tactic that is now in play.  It is still war with Rochefort, but it will be different as now it will be fought with the head of the snake sitting next to the King of France.

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“You are preparing for an assault,” Benoit Demare stands at the window.  He is the eldest of the five sons of Lucille Demare, and Constance’s oldest brother.  Like all Demare men, he is handsome, with a lean strength, tall and broad in the shoulders, keen observant dark eyes speckled with amber.  He has a serious demeanor and does not smile easily.  Benoit Demare assumes firm control as head of his family and their business with Lucien Grimaud.  That is, if his mother agrees.

The two men stand side by side, watching Crotte organize a drill on running the cannon in and out, simulating loading powder and shot.  “A sizable cannon,” Benoit comments.

“Crotte named his favorite ladies, Tu parles and Tu reves. I did not think he had much humor in him. “The second arrives tomorrow.”  Lucien says, “two should do the job.”   

Benoit turns around to lean against the window frame to study Lucien, “so what are we going to do about the Belladona and the others standing out?”

“Why do you think this is different from what we have seen before?”  Lucien probes for Benoit’s thinking on the situation. “Captains try, they lose cargo, longboats destroyed and good seamen drowned.  The Wrecks may do it again for us.”  Benoit starts to object.  Lucien holds up a staying hand.

“I understand you sense something different but cannot quite put your finger on it. Until we know otherwise, our response must be the same as before.  Alert Duval to patrol the routes.  Put sharpshooters on the headland, and if they manage to land, shoot them.’  He slants a look at Benoit, “give them warning if you have scruples other than my own.  I will send Takar, Olifant, and Marceline.  We will see how much the Belladona captain and the others want to try their luck at the Wrecks.”

“Gun ships should send a message.”  But Benoit looks troubled.  “But why does this captain pursue the Wrecks?  There are easier coves.”

“I am uninterested in guessing,” Lucien is terse, “I am uninterested in competition.  We deal with it and encourage this captain and anyone else who dares to join him to go elsewhere.” 

“Still friends within the Bombay Marine?” Benoit has a sly tone.  “We see their ships at times in the Channel.”

 “The English are in a tug of war with the VOC and the Marine are never in European waters for long.   Some of our friends overlap with the Marine.  Captains Clisson and Eastman have done well from leasing their ships to the English.  The lines are tangled, but I would make the approach if it became necessary.”  Lucien makes a pointed look at both Benoit and Lucille Demare.  “First, put men with long guns on the headlands and make it clear.”

“And if they persist?”  Lucille Demare stubbornly pursues a decisive ultimate outcome.  “What if this captain wants a meeting?”

“Parlay?”  Lucien raises his brow.  “If he comes through the Wrecks, he risks himself, the longboat and a white flag.  Or he lands elsewhere and sends a man.  If it is me that he wants to meet, he damn well better know the process or misunderstandings happen and blood can be spilled.”

Lucien points a finger at Madame Demare, “You must summon the crews and the local buyers.  If anyone attempts to go to the beach, trade with these captains or move cargo, we will act.  If my gun ships are not enough, we will increase their number.  The Aigle spotted the Batavia and the Amsterdam.  The VOC owes me more than one favor.  At the risk of repeating myself, I am uninterested in the why of it.” 

But he knows that he is curious about the Belladona.  Odysseus had been trapped on that ship and the last he had seen of the Belladona was in the Aigle’s battle with the Spanish galleons, the Belladona capturing one of the galleons and sailing away.  There had not been time for the two ships to cross the ocean to Hispaniola and for the Belladona to return.  The captain had sent the galleon on to Hispaniola and returned to the Wrecks.  Why?

He also knew he was curious about Renacer, the Belladona captain.  Renacer had intuited his plan of attack on the Spanish galleons and provided cover and then joined in the attack.  It had been an extremely risky maneuver.  But the captain had helped, perhaps perceiving an opportunity for himself to capture one of the two Spanish galleons.  If Odysseus had survived, Lucien wants his sailing master back.  In light of the news from Paris, Lucien would like to know more from Captain Renacer.  But first, Renacer must not think that Lucien Grimaud owes him a place at the Wrecks.

“Of more concern to me Lucien,” Madame Demare persists with her questions, “is why is the Ogre pursuing the Wrecks?   If as you say, Rochefort is reinstated, is there a real partnership between Hispaniola and the Company of the Orient and what does this mean for our business? Does our war with the Company of the Orient continue or do we seek new friends?

“All good questions Madame.”   It is no surprise to him that she makes leaps of understanding that often parallel his own.  Lucille Demare has survived a long tenure as the matriarch of a powerful family in the smuggling trade.  When Lucien first joined Benito’s service, the captain had sent him to work with and learn from Madame Demare, confessing that he admired this woman, and over the years of their partnership, Benito had asked her to marry him – and was always refused.  Benito admired her beauty and wit, spoke in glowing terms of her ample figure and abundant auburn hair. The widow Demare captured the black heart of the notorious pirate captain. He also adored her shrewd mind and easy scruples about drawing blood to defend her interests. It was a romance between truly equal minds.

Lucien turns from the window, “the weather is changing,” he is not referring to the temperature.  “If Rochefort is truly reinstated, the King will not tolerate fighting among his merchant fleets, particularly with privateers.  Our current business is affected.”

  He pauses, “as for the Wrecks, the presence of the ships keeps us occupied and that may be the purpose. For now, fighting is our only recourse.”

“Are your people in Paris getting information?”   Lucien makes a noncommittal murmur and does not reply.  It is not his habit to share everything he knows.

“Do not talk with anyone here or elsewhere about our business,” Lucien cautions, “I must insist that includes Constance.”

“I agree,” Benoit nods, “the tighter our circle, the easier we can see where leaks may spring.”

“I am here to see my grandchildren,” Madame Demare declares, “my daughter is not the best of correspondents, and I have yet to meet my granddaughter.”

For the first time, Lucien smiles at the Demares. “By now, my wife has informed Constance of your arrival.  I expect she ….”

A firm knock at the door, it opens immediately and Constance rushes into the room, exclaiming, “Mother!  Benoit!  Why did you not tell me you were coming?”  Sophia walks at a more sedate pace behind Constance, exchanging a knowing look with her husband.  M Jozan remains by the door.

“Madame Demare, Monsieur, how delightful to see you,” Sophia greets the Demares with a warm smile, “our M Jozan will show you to your chambers.  We welcome you to join us for dinner.”  She hands off the responsibility for the Demares to the house steward and linking her arm with Lucien’s they leave the family Demare to their reunion.  

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“What are you doing now?” Sophia asks as they leave the salon and walk down the gallery. 

 “I could use a diversion,” Lucien scowls irritably, “I must keep myself from pacing the hallway outside Alessandra’s room or overmanaging what the others, including Martin, Gasparo, Afonso and Yusuf have well in hand.” He brightens hopefully, sending her a seductive look, “do you have something in mind for us?”

“No.”

His scowl deepens, “well then…” She chuckles and strokes his cheek soothingly.  “At least not right now.  The midwives think that the birth may be closer than they expected. We need a wet nurse immediately.”

He stares at her blankly, “I am supposed to find one?”

“No, you are to go and retrieve one,” she smiles at him.  “Tatie May has a granddaughter who has just had a baby.  Her name is Bonne and she lives in the village.” She raises her brow, “if you leave now, you will easily be back before dark.”

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“Where are you going?” Lucien shouts to a young lad who is leading a donkey hitched to a cart in the direction of the gate.  The young man turns, doffs his hat to Lucien who is holding the reins of two horses.  “Pardon M, I want to bring back my pony.  My mother worries as we did not think we would be away more than a day and we also left the chickens and the goat untended.”

“Your pony?” Lucien scowls, “is your pony not in a field able to find grass and water?”

“Yes M,” the lad looks miserable, “but…I…”

“Never mind,” Lucien waves a dismissive hand, “I understand about ponies.”  He shakes a finger at the lad, “I did make a rule about leaving alone.”  The boy stammers, “ye…ye…yes M. Thank you M.”

Lucien swings a severe look at the farmers, wives and children that have gathered to see how this conflict will be resolved.  Not every farmer brought their animals.  Lucien rakes a hand through his hair. Concessions must be made. “Pens were built for your stock.  How many did not bring their animals?”  A few hands go up.  Lucien shakes his head and gestures to Martin who is watching from the walkway along the battlements.

“We will go together, ready yourselves.  We leave immediately as we must be back before dark,” Lucien declares and gestures to the young lad, “finish hitching these horses to that wagon and you ride with me.”  The lad looks startled, but hurries to do as ordered.

Lucien watches as farmers and guards assemble behind his wagon, some on horseback and some driving mules or horses in small carts.  Martin walks his horse to Lucien, “a fine day, I think I will come with you.”  He signals two guards to move to the rear of the line.   

“If we get separated, back before dark!” Lucien shouts after them.  The guards wave their acknowledgement. 

Yusuf is watching, amused, “you will return with unhappy cows, goats and discontented roosters to make our sleep impossible.  The chickens may drop dead from fright the moment that cannon fires.”

“I imagine these carts will also bring home brewed ale and that will improve sleep all around.  And I will have wet nurse.”  He sets a hand on Yusuf’s shoulder, “Olivain Maillard brought a message from Aramis.  Rochefort has been reinstated.”   Yusuf blinks, murmurs, “and they say the Turk is wily.”  He glances at Lucien, “what news did the Demares bring?”

“We must talk.”

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“This was the lad’s pony?” Benoit laughs, “a bit of surprise for you.”  Lucien chuckles, “meet Tippie who appears to be very happy to be reunited with her friend.” Tippie’s eyes are partially closed, one hind leg cocked in relaxation. The lad sings softly, reaching to brush the gleaming black coat.

“Tippie? Never heard of that Titan,” Benoit laughs at the name, “these giants of the horse world come from the Old English Black,” Benoit Demare admires the big horse.  “Although here, we call them Le Grand Cheval,” he says with a wink.

Lucien hums in agreement, “over 16 hands I reckon.”  Benoit nods, “your Atlas is bigger. I remember you had to knock two stalls together to make one big enough for Atlas.”  Lucien’s mouth twitches into a vague smile at the memory, “the children stood on benches to help me groom him.” He would lead the big horse around the paddock, unperturbed by the four small children wriggling with excitement on his broad back.  

“The children will be excited to meet Tippie,” Benoit says, “I see great battles being reenacted from his broad back.” 

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He opens the door leading into their apartments and goes through the small salon to their bedchamber.  He crosses the room where Sophia stands at the window overlooking the gardens.  He wraps his arms around her, purring as she leans back against him, her hands covering his.  He nuzzles her neck, leaning down to lay his cheek against her.  “Which of our children are you spying on.”  He feels her smile and kisses her cheek. 

“Rayya,” she answers softly.  Lucien peers over her shoulder.  Rayya and Olivain are walking the paths that weave through the parterres their arms linked.  They walk slowly, absorbed in each other and not in the scents and wonders wrought by Glenay’s gardeners. There are parterres overflowing with winter flowers, fountains, arched small bridges over streams gurgling over rocks, exotic plants in large vases, topiary and the early blooms of a spring garden. Benches and pavilions are tucked away, places for a romantic embrace and even a kiss.

Sophia tilts her head toward a bedside table, “I thought you meant to give the book and medallion you brought back from the cove house to Athos?”  Lucien sighs, “I do intend to, but there has not been the right time.”  She wonders what the right time would be and why he keeps these objects next to his side of the bed, but she decides not to pursue it. 

“How long will Olivain stay?”  Sophia asks.  Lucien shrugs, “not long, but that may depend on Raoul.”

“Olivain will want to talk to you,” Sophia advises in a cautious tone. 

“Not about a wedding,” Lucien is adamant.  “She is not yet sixteen.”

“Rayya is sixteen,” Sophia corrects him, although he knows full well the ages of his children.  “I was…’  She gets no further as he interrupts.

“As I have said many times, that was different.”

“Because it was you.”

“Yes, exactly.  It was me and it was you and that makes the difference.”  She bursts into laughter, “Lucien, this argument is ridiculous. You are almost six years older than I am, at the time we…”

“I did not marry a child, and I could protect you,” he interrupts, “I am not ridiculous. I will allow a betrothal.  But not a wedding.  They must wait.”

She turns and wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest, “I did not say you were ridiculous.  Rayya is growing up and she is older than her years.  That’s all I ask you to consider. When they can wed, they may use the dower house while he is still in service.  She would not be far away from him or us.”

He holds her close to him, knowing what Sophia means is that Rayya would still be close to him and where his protection would extend.  He will never be free of his fears for Rayya or any of his children’s safety.  Does Rochefort’s reinstatement raise new concerns for what he might do?

“How long do we have until dinner?” he nuzzles her neck tenderly.  She smooths his hair and kisses him.  “I think we have time.” His lips linger over hers, “then we shall make haste,” he murmurs, “but slowly.”