Dawn on day one…
The sun’s advance is heralded by a brilliant band of yellow, pink and gold hovering at the edge of the earth. In the dark crowded yard, under flickering lamplight and pending dawn, the dust is rising. Carriages and wagons are lined up, the horses moving restively in the traces, bobbing their heads, ears flickering back and forth as they nip at each other. The last of the travel bags and chests are being stowed and kitchen maids deliver hampers of food, water and wine. Gradually the assembled travelers sort themselves into carriages. Athos is making final adjustments to the interior of Alessandra’s carriage ensuring a comfortable bed for her and a secure place when baby Leon will be with her. Martin and Gasparo stand to the side talking quietly and watching the organized chaos. A few of their men are near while the rest are already outside the gate waiting for the procession of carriages to start.
Lucien glances at the glowing horizon and scowls. Everyone is gathered except for his wife and young sons. The caravan of conveyances and people must depart soon if they are to stay on their travel plan. “Samyar,” he calls to his son who is standing at a carriage that will carry Cousin Francois, Father Massey and several other priests. Samy looks up. “Go see if you can help your mother along.”
Samy points toward the chateau, where M Jozen, the house steward, is ushering Sophia out the door and down the stairs, his arms full of small last minute bundles. She is followed by two nurses who carry Asim and Kayvahn and a small bevy of maids. She smiles apologetically at Lucien but takes the time to assure herself that the babies, nurses and maids are safely in their carriages before she takes Afonso’s proffered hand to join Suzanne and Rayya. Lucien lifts Rosie into Marie’s carriage, “is there anything you need now Mother? An extra blanket?” Marie frowns, frustrated by the delays and shakes her head, urging him, “get us started Lucien, or we shall never get to Fontevraud Abbey before Compline.”
He shuts the carriage door firmly and signals Martin and Gasparo. The four mounted guards forming the scouting party ride out. Lucien follows the scouts and waits on the road for the caravan. Martin raises his arm, circling it over his head motioning the driver of the first carriage who in turn quietly calls ‘ha’, clicks his tongue and lifts the reins signaling the horses to throw their weight against the traces and the first carriage lurches forward. Every servant, cook, and stable worker is assembled to wave farewell to their duchess and her departing family. As the carriages roll out of the gate, gardeners and the arriving day workers stand to the side of the road and wave. At the last carriage Athos, and Afonso mount their horses and ride out to join Lucien outside the gate and watch the wagons and outriders emerge and take their place on the road. More guards bring up the rear. Martin reins in his horse next to Lucien.
“I’ve seen shorter caravans in Yusuf’s caravansary,” Lucien remarks.
“We stay together until we are no more than five days out of Paris and then we can send the wagons on ahead,” Martin says, “the carriages travel at a slower pace.” He diplomatically refers to the carriage as slow rather than the occupants requiring certain comforts on a hard road journey. Neither his men nor servants would expect such coddling.
Athos rides through the gate following Alessandra’s carriage and ahead of the carriage carrying the doctor, the nurse and one of the wet nurses. He pulls his horse up next to Lucien. “How are we doing?”
“Well, we are still on the same day,” Lucien quips. Athos indulges his brother’s sarcasm with a tolerant smile. Lucien adds, “we seem to have acquired twice the number of servants.” Athos slants a look at him, “I understand some of the servants asked to go. There was an opportunity to go to Paris or visit family at Royaumont. Perhaps our mother agrees too easily to these requests.”
“She likely negotiates an exchange for time spent in one of her many charities that offers opportunities for worthy self-improvements,” Lucien says with a knowing smile, “Her Grace rarely misses a chance to encourage others to please heaven and improve character by serving the poor.”
“The result being twice the number of servants,” Athos concludes with a bemused expression. “Just so,” Lucien replies. They are in good humor, the day is fine and they are, finally, on their way. The last wagon rumbles through the gate, guards spreading out on either side of the road. Athos and Lucien walk their horses down the road, staying back to avoid most of the dust. By unspoken agreement, they stop and turn their horses around to look back at Glenay chateau. Bright morning sun streams onto the guard towers and upper stories of the chateau, the stones glowing gold. The verdant meadow is carpeted with early wildflowers, bordered with trees greening as winter retreats from warm spring days. Birds chatter, a fish breaks the surface of the river glimmering in the distance. They exchange a smile, thinking of all that has occurred in this place of their refuge, discovery and healing. They do not need to say it aloud, but they know they will return.
“To Fontevraud Abbey before Compline,” Lucien announces their destination for the day. Athos smiles and reaches out to clap his brother’s shoulder. “To Paris.”
Day four…
“We should reach the Poor Clares by sundown.” Lucien pulls up his horse next to Athos who has Bianca before him.
“I think Martin and Gasparo are practically rhapsodic at our progress.” Athos smiles at Lucien’s artful description of their stern commanders.
“Although in my experience with Martin,’ Lucien cannot help but elaborate, “states of rhapsody usually involve that big sword he carries and shrieking war cries.”
“So, he is … mellowing?” Athos suggests in the same spirit. Lucien is delighted at Athos’ sense of humor, ‘I would not have thought it possible for a grandson of the fierce Landsknecht.”
Lucien reaches to tickle Bianca, “are you enjoying your ride Mlle Bianca?” She has a sweet smile for him as she scolds him, “Oncle, why did you not think to tie my pony to the carriage so I could ride properly.”. Lucien blinks in mock surprise and glances at Athos who is frowning, “Petite, that is not your uncle’s responsibility. We have already discussed this matter,” he makes it clear he is not pleased. Bianca looks again at Lucien, who maintains a stern expression while winking at her. She looks down to hide her smile as he tugs his hood down to suppress his laughter at his spirited niece. Athos turns his horse to ride back to Alessandra’s carriage. It is some time before he returns to Lucien’s side.
“My daughter,” Athos sighs. Lucien smiles, “I have four and I can tell you they are the delight and the worry of one’s life. I do not know if you will like this comparison or be dismayed, but Bianca is very like Rayya when she was that age.”
“You are already Bianca’s ally,” Athos grouses and then chuckles, “Rayya is incomparable.” Lucien laughs too, “she is that. Should we warn Olivain?” Athos shakes his head, “I expect he already knows and loves her for it.”
They ride together, occasionally breaking a companionable silence to discuss the status of the wagons or carriages, the drivers’ reports on the horses. They review plans to stop at the Poor Clares. In the middle of a terrible snowstorm, the impoverished monastery had opened its doors to Suzanne, sharing their meagre food and accommodations to help with the delivery of baby Marie Lucette. As soon as she reached Glenay, Marie dispatched wagons of meat and other food stores, blankets and arranged for wood to be delivered daily. When the snow cleared, Lucien sent workers, including carpenters, masons, and gardeners to the monastery for much needed repairs. Now, he wants to see their work and decide on future repairs and maintenance.
“Are you convinced that Alessandra’s recollection of Rochefort in that house was not a dream?”
Lucien breaks into Athos’ contemplative silence. The sun is high overhead, they ride side by side, broad brimmed hats pulled down over their eyes as a shield against bright light and dust.
“He could have been there when we arrived,” Lucien continues, “that would explain Radu.” It would also explain the partial glass of wine and plate of crumbs he found in one of the rooms, a low fire burning, the lingering sense of someone having abruptly left. He glances at Athos, who is frowning.
“You now consider that it was Rochefort and not Radu who you forced into a hasty retreat?” Athos is skeptical. “Lucien, you searched the house. You were opening doors as you went to find a carriage.”
“I am saying it could have been Rochefort,” Lucien asserts, “we were in a hurry to get Alessandra away. I did a cursory inspection, opened doors and looked in, checked wardrobes. But I did not expect that Rochefort was in the house so I did not search for the secret places where a man can hide. I did not look for wall panels or go up to the attic or find the places in the floors where secret stairs are hidden, nor did I look for tunnels leading out to the woods.”
“No,” Athos agrees, “but there was not time for that. You had to find a carriage and get us away before the other guards returned.”
“Was it not too remarkable that there was a carriage handy to our needs and Radu to tack up the horses? I now feel a fool for not even considering Rochefort could have been near.”
“I did not think of it either, only the risk of guards returning and bringing more men.” Athos makes a scoffing laugh, “think about it Lucien. Rochefort coveting Richelieu’s opulent carriage. A prize for him. He kept it hidden, wrapped himself in its luxuries and even kept Richelieu’s herald on the door. An elaborate pretense to something that was not his. That was the carriage we stole from him.”
“We did not steal it,” Lucien proclaims in self-righteous indignation. “We have more right to it than he ever did.” He frowns at a thought and says, “well…you did. It is yours.”
Shocked at Lucien’s meaning, Athos stares at his brother and then mutters in disbelief, “the irony.”
“There was the other room that must have been Richelieu’s private study. I am sure Rochefort did not cross the threshold.” Lucien says, “the furnishings covered with linens, the fireplace stone cold.”
“Why would it not be used? Was there some…”
“The walls were covered with portraits of Marie, some at a very young age.” There is something in his tone that catches Athos’ attention.
“I do not recall you telling me about this room,” Athos looks concerned, “you found these portraits disturbing?”
“Yes,” Lucien tone is flat, but angry. “He was obsessed with her.” He hesitates and then adds, “for a very long time.”
They both look up as Afonso is riding towards them. “The ladies are asking for a rest stop. Cousin Francois says the children need to stretch their legs. There is a meadow up ahead where the ladies can walk and have refreshments.”
“All right,” Athos says, “let us alert the drivers.” Afonso rides away to the lead carriage. He turns to Lucien, “I suggest we not tell our mother about this room and what you found there. We do not know if she is aware of his art collection or what he may have commissioned. It may upset her unduly and this journey has been rigorous enough on a lady of her years.”
The caravan pulls to the side of the road, clustering carriages and wagons under the shade of trees ringing a clearing and a small meadow. Slowly the passengers emerge from the carriages, gratefully stretching and breathing in deep lungfuls of dust free air. Bread, cheese and apples are passed around. Afonso sets Nella on his broad shoulders and Cousin Francois leads the children on a quick march across the meadow and soon they are playing a game of jeu du loup, tagging and chasing each other. Rayya and Samy pretend to be too slow to catch Bianca and Rosie, Nella shrieks with laughter atop her perch and a great deal of merriment floats over the meadow.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Day nine…outside Chartres
“Your Grace, I estimate two hours to the Abbey.” Martin walks his horse next to Marie’s carriage. They talk through the open window. “The Abbé assures me your rooms will be prepared, and with plenty of hot water and dinner.”
“Bless you M Martin and bless the Abbé,” Marie has a tired smile and settles back on the seat. Sophia closes the window and tucks a blanket around Marie’s shoulders and another over her lap. “Are you warm enough?” she is anxious that Marie does not catch a chill. Marie nods, “we are no more than three days from Paris. If the roads have survived the winter, perhaps only two.”
“At least we did not have rain showers to make the roads muddy and trap the wheels.”
“Yes, thank heaven for that.” Marie regards Sophia fondly, “how long will you stay in Paris?”
“I want to see Alessandra well settled. The doctor is near and Athos attentive, but I must be sure before I go to Royaumont. I expect Rayya would like to stay in Paris if Olivain is there too. Lucien will have business, but I would like to go home.”
“Will he agree?” Marie asks, wondering if Lucien would allow her to go alone to Royaumont. Sophia shrugs, “M Levesque wrote diligently and in detail, but I want to see my lands and visit the tenants.”
Marie nods and says no more, noting that Sophia has evaded her question, just as she will evade her husband’s objection to travel alone to Royaumont.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
The Abbé’s had graciously offered his study to Lucien and Athos. It is an austere room with only one carpet on the bare stone floor, and most of the wood chairs are simply made. Lucien moves the only two comfortable chairs close to the fireplace, adds wood and stirs a meagre flame to a brisk fire, enjoying the warmth. A monk enters quietly leaving flasks of wine on a narrow side table. When Athos walks in, Lucien is pouring out two glasses. He hands one to Athos. They take a drink, pause and exchange a grimace. “Good grief,” Athos murmurs and looks at the offending glass as though it were responsible.
“You had best send the Abbé a gift of your own vintage,” Lucien advises. Athos watches, astonished as his brother drains his glass and then refills it. Lucien shrugs, “I have drunk worse in better places. Also, worse places.” They relax in the chairs, allowing the warmth to seep into their tired bones.
“Is Alessandra resting comfortably?” Lucien watches his brother leaning forward, hands held loosely between his knees. “Yes, surprisingly well. She will be glad when this journey is finished, as will I.”
“Hmm,” Lucien makes a noncommittal murmur and stares into the fireplace. “Shall we talk again about what we expect?” His question seems vague, but Athos understands what he means.
“The new house will keep us occupied for a time and settling Bianca and Celestine into their routines with tutors. Alessandra will still need plenty of rest, and Leon is already showing himself to be a baby who knows his own mind.” Athos sits back in the chair, swirling the wine in the glass. “But that is not all.”
“No,” Lucien agrees and waits for Athos to summarize their situation.
“We expect the King to summon us to his councils. I do not think Rochefort will show his face at these councils. It will be difficult to see his hand, but it will be there. You realize Lucien, that he has already made approaches. Do you remember it – at Layla’s wedding at Fontainebleau, in the billiard room. He approached the boys and managed to get them into trouble with the King.”
“Yes – you are right. I cannot believe I did not recall it.” Lucien’s face hardens as the realization sinks in that Rochefort has already reached out to their children.
“I have reason to think Raoul may know something too,” Athos continues. “It was Rochefort who took Alessandra from the Renards and brought her to Richelieu’s house and brought the doctor. We know it is Rochefort, through Guerin Spanger, who is buying land, right up to the borders of the Glenay estate. I believe Alessandra did see him and that he was there during her illness. Remember when I was with the children traveling to Glenay – we were attacked in the storm. Radu was miraculously present to get us to that house.”
“Most likely Radu saved you from his own men,” Lucien is sarcastic. “Rochefort strikes in many directions by allowing his subordinates freedom to act on their own malicious agendas. He scatters random seeds of destruction and death until he decides there is more to be gained by his ‘saintly’ intervention to promote himself and let the others suffer the consequences.” Lucien seethes with fury…a drizzling rain falling in a small plaza in Genoa … Gabriel’s life fading as blood pumped from a mortal wound inflicted by Rochefort’s man Henri de Winter. He shuts down the memory. De Winter is dead by his sword and there will be time for further retribution.
“We thought we had to wait for the King’s summons to the councils to see his intentions.” Lucien reminds Athos, “but he has been steps ahead of us for some time now. To gain favor with the King, Rochefort had to make a very big offer. I am now certain that it will be securing my ‘fleet’ under the Company of the Orient – to present the King with a navy.”
“That was always Richelieu’s ambition,” Athos says, puzzled by Lucien’s curious emphasis on the word fleet.
“Why do you say it in this manner?” Lucien has a sly look. “Have you ever seen my fleet?”
Athos frowns, ‘well…no. I assume it is at Le Havre? Or … where do keep your ships?”
“My ship? Lucien inquires with a raised brow. “What do you mean?”
“The Aigle…your ship.”
“The Aigle is not mine. I am her captain, but the ship belongs to the men.” Lucien anticipates Athos next question. “I hold the letter of marque, not the ship. That is why I am her captain. Also, because I devised the plan to steal her.” He makes a smug smile. “But the Aigle is not part of any fleet.”
“But you sail other ships, deal with the merchants and cargoes. Quite a few as I recall. Are they…” Athos voice trails off. “Good heaven, are you saying that Rochefort’s idea of getting possession of your fleet for a navy is a grasp for nothing?”
“Pretty much,” Lucien acknowledges. “I have informed my partners that I am sending ships to their home port.”
“Which is where?”
Lucien shrugs, “different places. Amsterdam, in the Baltic like Danzig, Riga, Königsberg to name a few. Also, England of course and then in the Mediterranean…” Athos holds up a staying hand, “why are you not the owner of record for all these ships?”
“Ships are expensive to own and maintain. The fortune is in what they carry. I have partners, like the VOC, who place value on what I know and what I have proven I can do. Also, knowledge of ports, officials, alliances, what to avoid, who to trust, then add a few gunships for security and therein lies enormous wealth. It may surprise you that I know many of the captains working in the Company of the Orient. In my fight with the Company, I boarded a ship of a captain I knew. A man loyal to his sense of duty. He would not abandon his ship or his crew. I scuttled his ship and killed him. I am not a greedy man, but I get a job done and I learned the value of patience from the best of teachers. Besides,” Lucien looks smug, “Jacky and I found a ship full of sugar and gold.”
Athos is astonished at what Lucien is telling him, “There is no fleet to expand into a French navy.”
“No”
“You have already made a move against him. Rochefort cannot have anticipated this. He will be humiliated in front of the King…and furious. So much for waiting to see what he does. We are already in it.”
Lucien has a mirthless smile, “Porthos told me once that a good beginning is half the work.” He glances at Athos frowning expression, “I hope Porthos is wrong this time.”
“Porthos is never wrong about battle. Delivering the first blow is an advantage, it can be disruptive, putting an adversary to a stand. We already see it.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” Athos grumbles. Lucien leans forward, his face taut, “we know more than he may wish us too. He keeps us off balance by making a broad reach toward our families. Gaining the King’s favor with promises of a fleet, will cost him a great deal of money. He is going to continue to spend more money to keep that favor. How much is too much? Is that our leverage? How does he keep his position with the King and what will the King allow him to do if he sees a secret aim to harm to our families?”
Athos has a grim smile, “were we not recently reminded to remember who we are, the name we bear, the legacy that is ours. There are powerful families of unique importance to the King for the future of France and most significantly, in His Majesty’s role as Most Christian King.”
“I see it just as you do,” Lucien is blunt, replying tersely, “we should be as wise as the Bishop of Rome and seek our mother’s counsel.”
Twelve Years After 