Lucien crouches down to add wood to a fire already burning briskly. He feels the heat against his face and stands, with one hand braced on the mantle, watching the flames. Behind him, Porthos and d’ Artagnan discuss the return to Paris, details of assembling their families, servants, guards and belongings, how many horses, how many carriages and wagons, where to stop on the journey, road conditions, alternate routes, places to stay, guards to take, guards to leave for Athos. Details of a long journey alternate with what they may or may not find upon their return to Paris where they expect to be reinstated in their former positions. They discuss what changes to expect, men that were under their command, resources they counted on to do the job effectively, the nature of their future interactions with the King. Will they be relegated to a far outer circle or closer as they once were. It is a long and far ranging discussion and as it proceeds, Lucien pours wine, tends to the fire, sits in a comfortable chair appearing to listen, but in fact does not listen. The conversation has nothing to do with him. He does not have a former official position to return to, nor does he want one or for anyone to devise one for him. His business is at the wharf, on the secret trails through forests, and on his ships in open seas. It is not sitting at a desk in a palace office or on a council engaged in endless arguments with other ministers for the amusement of a king who has already made up his mind.
He realizes the two men have stopped talking and are looking at him. “Will you wait for Athos?” Lucien nods, “yes, although I am uncertain of his return here. He is staying at the cove longer than he anticipated.” He looks at Porthos and d’ Artagnan, “I have a question. What is you believe that the King knows about Rochefort’s actions?” They exchange a glance and shake their heads. None of them know the King’s mind. Nevertheless, Lucien pursues his point.
“Is the King aware of the full extent of Rochefort’s purpose for Henry, the years in Italy, bringing him and his mother Agnes to France? Rochefort abducted and tortured his own son. Rohan was mostly dead by the time we got to him. I do not ask what the King chooses to believe, only if Louis was aware.”
The two musketeers exchange a glance and then shrug. “That is what we do not truly know,” Porthos says. “How does it matter at this point? We must return.”
“It damn well matters to me!” Lucien jumps to his feet, “Layla and Rohan are being sent back to Spain on some putain mission.”
“Lucien, do not think it does not matter to us,” d’Artagnan snaps angrily and Lucien bristles. d’ Artagnan rakes a hand through his hair, softening his tone, “we are all unsettled by the turn of events. Layla and Rohan matter to all of us.”
“It is why we must go back to Paris,’ Porthos insists. “We are in the dark here.”
…just let me kill Rochefort...the thought lingers in his mind, but Lucien does not voice it aloud. There are many ways a man can die and if he has opportunity … but he does not say this aloud. Not yet, he thinks.
Mercifully, M Jozen quietly slips into the room, delivering a message from his mother. He excuses himself and quickly leaves.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Benoit is waiting for him in the corridor and hands him a scrolled message. “What’s this?” Lucien growls opening the message.
“That great putain ship you saw is in Normandy, grapple hooked with the Belladonna.”
‘That is why Renacer did not meet me.” Lucien murmurs to himself, thinking that the lands and the estate in Normandy belong to Raoul. He rereads the message, puzzled. “What did the Inquisition want with the Belladonna? What are they doing there?”
“Getting a great deal of attention, first from the local fishermen and villages, but word is spreading and people are coming from farther away, along with a few priests. My man sent a more detailed message that a longboat is rowing up the Touques, stopping for the crowds and entertaining the locals with stories of devil possession and bewitching wives. No burnings yet, heaven be praised, though I doubt it will go that far.”
“Where is the longboat going?”
Benoit shrugs, “care to go have a look?”
Lucien considers the message again, curious but shakes his head. “Roberval is to arrive soon in Marseille and I must return to Paris.” He slaps the message into Benoit’s hand.
“The Inquisition will have to wait.”
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
In Marie’s private salon, he finds Sophia and Father Massey. Marie waves him to a chair near her, but he goes to the fireplace and adds wood not needed to the fire. She watches his back for a moment and then says, “we thought to begin preparations for the return home, so we are ready when Athos returns. Do you wish to set a date?” Father Massey asks.
I must leave now… Layla …
“I understand Athos may stay at the cove for a few extra days.”
“Yes, but I believe we must leave for Paris as soon as possible. M Jozen is counting the servants,” Marie says. “We are taking some new people back with us who would like to serve in the houses in Paris.”
“Or at Royaumont?”
“Yes, although I thought you would be returning to Paris first,” Marie frowns slightly, “Layla and Rohan’s departure for Spain must be soon. And your position … her voice trails off at Lucien’s suddenly mulish look.
“M de Vry has my confidence for managing the wharf and His Majesty is not without counsel in my absence. Athos too I suppose. The King has Rochefort. Layla and Rohan will take a route through Tours and Poitiers, if necessary, we can arrange to meet them. I have asked for a pigeon post as to their departure in case they leave before we do. Their return to Spain is my concern. He makes a wry expression, “as you know once I go back, I may well be required to stay in Paris.”
Father Massey murmurs, “we have the same concern. I too saw the state of M de Rohan at the Tower of Mendoza.”
Silence falls. Lucien sighs and adopts a different tone, “has there been any word from Raoul? He was to find a house for Athos and Alessandra. It will need preparation and furnishing.”
He gets to his feet murmuring, “forgive my ill temper. I will go and assess the status of wagons and count horses we may need. Would that suit you?” He does not wait for an answer, but strides to the door and is gone. A stunned silence falls between those left in the salon. Marie looks at Sophia.
“I should have anticipated this.”
Lucien rests his arms on the crenellation and stares out across the dark meadow, ringed with tall dark shapes of trees. The moon is high overhead, its light and stars covered by clouds drifting across the sky. Heavy footfalls sound on the steps.
‘Your mood is about as black as this night.” Porthos emerges from the shadows. “Not dancing jigs to be returning the Paris?” Lucien grunts, “I would not know how. I do not think I have ever seen an Englishman or a Scotsman dance a jig.”
“I thought it might be done by … your men for example,” Porthos is diplomatic. Lucien makes a short laugh, “their hopping and skipping resembles men walking on hot coals.” They both chuckle and then fall silent.
“None of us are not looking forward to Paris,” Porthos observes frankly. Lucien sighs, “no.”
“You have received an honor in joining the King’s privy council.” Porthos observes.
“What honor is that?” Porthos is one of the few men with whom Lucien can speak honestly. “To spend my time polishing arguments against some other minister.”
“You have talked with Athos about it? He can offer a better perspective than I can,” Porthos suggests, “I feel relieved I can again serve in the military, command men, although politics is always there too.” He looks at Lucien, “we are not unalike Lucien.”
“You are correct in your assessment. I did not enjoy my last stint on Mazarin’s council. I do not expect the next one to be any better,” Lucien faces Porthos and jabs an angry finger, “that is not what I have done with myself. I have no interest in politics. I do not care to think I can influence a King and to what end would I influence him? I serve him better at sea, in the ports and among the merchants, doing what I have always done – filling his treasury. The rest, I do not care for it. I am poorly suited to it.” He blows out a breath, “I will not do it.”
“Well, that is a bold statement my friend,” Porthos replies carefully. “I confess at this moment, you worry me, Lucien. You might be able to do otherwise. But you do realize you cannot avoid it. You may not have a choice.” Lucien turns back to the dark meadow, the tops of tall grasses waving in the moonlight. He thinks of how he found Rohan at the Tower of Mendoza, and Layla…they will return to Spain.
“There is always a choice,” he mutters, “only consequences cannot be avoided.”
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Sophia lies awake. Lucien had not come to dinner and sent a message that he was dining with the officers in the village. He had not come to bed either, although she had heard the group return. She swings her feet to the floor and reaches for her mules and cloak. She checks his library and family salon and decides to try the stable. When she reaches the front door, she appropriates the lantern from a confused footman and leaves the house, crossing the yard under the watchful gaze of the guards patrolling the ramparts, those in the yard withdraw into shadows and follow her to the stable. She goes first to Jaaden’s stall. The stallion greets her, pushing his nose into her chest. “Where is he?” she murmurs laying her cheek against his massive bulk. He nickers deep in his chest.
She tries the carriage house, but he is not there. She checks the carts and peers over the sides of wagons. Finally, she spies a long lean shape, recognizes the hat tipped over his eyes. “Is this where we are sleeping now?
She startles him awake. He pushes his hat back, surprised at her appearance. He leans up on his elbow as she sets her foot on the wheel and climbs up arranging herself to lie beside him, wriggling against the hard wagon bed. “This is not very comfortable.”
“You should have stayed in your bed.”
“Our bed.”
He grunts and then says, “I am not drunk.”
“I did not think so.” She turns on her side to face him, “a letter arrived from Raoul. He found a house and is getting it furnished.”
“Good, where is it?”
“Along the Rue de Beaujolais at the Palais-Royale.” Lucien’s eyes widen. “Is that not where…”
“Yes, Richelieu lived there, but in a difference residence. Marie confirms it.” He makes a sarcastic grunt.
“Lucien, what is it you want us to do?”
He sets his hand against her cheek, “I feel the manipulations of others although I cannot see it clearly. Not yet, so I do not know how any of it or my actions may affect you.”
“Everything you do affects me,” she whispers, “that is how it has always been for us. I am not unprepared for what may come. I do know the man I love and I am content.” He smiles and kisses her, “my contented wife.” She giggles, “you have your ways.” He chuckles and kisses her again.
“Well, I am not content with this wagon for a bed.” He sits up, “come contented wife.” He helps her down from the wagon and tucks her arm under his. They cross the silent yard, the guards on duty drift back into the shadows, turning discreetly away as they pass.
Twelve Years After 