Chapter Two
Luc Boyea had intended to set out from the Count’s townhouse immediately upon hearing the conversation regarding Queen Anne. He had borrowed a horse from the Count’s stable to ride as fast as he could through the streets of Paris, then west and a little south from there. However, it took a short while for Boyea to actually leave the Count’s townhouse, since he had to procure money as well as the horse. He put a few items in the horse’s saddlebag with all the cash he had squirreled away from his pay. Not knowing how long he’d be gone, he also tucked in a change of clothing, something non-descript if he needed to be anonymous, and a bit of food from the kitchens where a cousin worked.
He had no map, so he wasn’t quite sure where his destination on the west side of Paris was. He rode to the edge of the city and turned slightly south on a road that seemed likely. The road happened to be the road the cardinal’s party had taken just hours before. He was far enough behind the cardinal's party that he did not catch up to them but followed from a distance. When he arrived at the scene where the attack had taken place, somewhat past midnight, he was stunned. There were bodies lying everywhere, most of them dead. He could tell they were the Red Cardinal’s men by their uniforms.
He searched for anyone who might still be alive and found a man who seemed near death but was still conscious.
“You,” he said to the man. “Were you with the cardinal? Who attacked you? Where were you going?”
The man breathed heavily and pointed, as if to say, that way. Boyea checked to see if anyone else was still living. The only face he recognized was the face of the king, who was certainly dead. He saw no one who looked like Cardinal Richelieu.
There was no road leading the way indicated, but Boyea went anyway, leaving the man to complete his death.
After riding over land for some way, he found himself at a small village. It was some time until dawn, so he decided to find a place in the nearby woods to rest until it was late enough to inquire at the village inn for information.
While looking for a likely place to camp, he passed a church with another large building behind it.
A monastery? he thought. I could request shelter there later. Then he thought, I have nowhere to leave the horse and my belongings. I’ll tell the brothers that I’ve been robbed and have nothing. I can take the horse to the stable in the village in the morning and request shelter for tomorrow night from the monks.
He rode on and found a grassy patch next to a river with a gentle bank. He tied the horse to a tree limb, settled on the ground with his back to the tree, and dozed until the morning sun woke him.
∞∞∞
D’Artagnan arrived at his destination, the church at Clairefontaine, the next afternoon after a hard ride. He had left Paris immediately after speaking with Cardinal Tremblay and had ridden all night, only stopping briefly to rest, feed, and water the horse. The trip had been long and not as smooth as he would have liked. The way was hilly and rocky, and the ground was muddy in places, as it had rained the day before. There was always the possibility of his horse tripping and falling.
The church compound was a short way outside the village and was comprised of the church itself, the chapter house, and a few outbuildings. Entering and looking through the foyer, he saw monks at prayer. He stood in the doorway to the sanctuary and waited for one of them to conclude his prayers. He examined the interior of the country church, finding it plain compared to the cathedrals of Paris, but it was beautiful, never-the-less. There were several paintings of the Madonna and other historical scenes, statues, and stained-glass windows. The altar had been supurbly painted and was a sight to behold, with a stark crucifix above it. The monks sat on benches that reached from one side to the other. At that time of day, the benches had only the monks and a few of the townspeople on them. On regular days and times of worship, they were filled with pious adults trying to control active children and crying infants.
Presently one of the monks rose and noticed the visitor.
“Good day, monsieur. I am Brother Paulo. Have you come to worship or make your confession?” the monk asked D’Artagnan.
“In other circumstances, it would be my desire. But I am on official business for the Church and must speak to your abbot.”
“Then please follow me to our chapter house. Our abbot will see you.” The monk led him along a covered walkway to an adjacent building, which housed a monastery small enough that everyone knew everyone else.
When they entered, the monk called to another, “Brother Julius, is Abbe’ Michel available to see this traveler. He says he’s here on church business.”
D’Artagnan saw another monk pass by and stared at him for a moment. He looked very like Cardinal Richelieu, although he seemed younger and more robust. The Cardinal had been gaunt as long as D’Artagnan had known him. If, God forbid, the cardinal should not survive, this man could very well take his place on the journey.
“Abbe’ Michel has just entered his office.” Brother Julius said, looking at D’Artagnan. “Please follow me.”
Brother Julius led him along a hallway with several doors on each side, then knocked on one of them. After being bidden to enter, the monk opened the door and motioned D’Artagnan through it.
D’Artagnan bowed to the abbot, a thin, middle-aged man with a well-manicured tonsure, and said “Abbe’, forgive me for coming unannounced. My name is Charles D’Artagnan of Cardinal Richeliou’s guard. I come at the behest of Cardinal Tremblay. Here is a letter he bade me present to you. I believe it will explain the reason for my presence.” He handed the letter to the abbot, who opened and read it immediately.
“I see,” the abbot said, folding it and sliding it into a drawer in his desk. Then he rose and walked around it. “But I’m afraid he is not up to seeing visitors right now.”
“But he is still alive? What is his condition?”
“He is very weak. It is hard to tell if he will live or not. One of the monks is with him, praying for his recovery, but only God knows what will happen.”
“I know he is probably asleep, but may I, at least, look in at him? I promise I will not try to wake him; I just want to reassure myself that he still lives.”
“Of course,” the abbot replied, and led him to a remote room in a mostly-unused wing of the chapterhouse where the cardinal had been taken.
When they entered, the cardinal was asleep, another monk keeping watch over him. The abbot motioned the monk to leave the room, then closed the door behind himself as he followed.
D’Artagnan stood, looking at his master, assessing his condition. Presently Richelieu opened his eyes and saw his visitor standing there.
He said in a soft, breathy voice, slowly, “My dear D’Artagnan, have you come to see me?”
D’Artagnan bowed and knelt by the bed to kiss the ring, but the ring wasn’t on his finger. “Eminence, I have come to see you, but has your ring been stolen or lost?”
“I gave it to Servien to take with him.”
“Cardinal Tremblay sent me to see you. He told me of the recent events. I grieve for his Majesty and my brother guards, and am grateful that you still live.”
“I, as well,” the cardinal replied. He made an effort to say more, but could not, and seemed to go back to sleep. However, after only a moment he roused and said, “I must leave this place. I am a danger to it.”
D’Artagnan had to lean close to hear what the cardinal said, but understood perfectly what he meant. Seeing his master like that seemed impossible to D’Artagnan. Cardinal Richelieu had always been commanding, intelligent and sometimes abrupt and unpleasant, but always strong. D’Artagnan had been a faithful and loyal guard since he had joined the guard and would remain so until he had successfully delivered the cardinal to wherever he was going.
The abbot opened the door and motioned for D’Artagnan to leave the room as the monk guarding the cardinal returned. “We have a guest room you may rest in. I know you must have ridden all night from Paris to get here. Attend Vespers and eat our evening meal with us and then sleep.”
“Thank you, Abbe’, but I have plans to make. His Eminence must be moved to a safer place as soon as he is able to travel,” D’Artagnan said.
“Yes, but right now he is too ill. However, you are correct that he must go. His presence also potentially places this monastery in danger. But Vespers will begin soon. Then we will eat. We all think better with food and rest.”
“Yes, Abbe’. Oh, if you speak of me to anyone else, Cardinal Tremblay has suggested that I use the nom de plume of Allais Dubois.”
“To keep your true identity a secret?” the abbot said. “I will use that name for you in the future.”
D’Artagnan did as told, joining the others at Vespers and the evening meal. Then he went to the guest room and slept through the night, awaking at the call to Vigils. It was later than he had planned to wake, so he quickly rose, dressed and joined the monks on their way to the chapel. Sine he hadn’t attended any of the rituals in a very long time, he felt the need for the peace he thought he needed, if only for a short time. While the other monks were praying the prescribed prayers, he prayed fervently for the cardinal’s recovery. Afterward, he kept his thoughts to himself as he ate.
D’Artagnan looked in on the cardinal, who was asleep, and he decided not to disturb him. Instead, he went to look for the Abbot.
“Abbe’, I know that the cardinal is not able to travel yet, but I believe, and I think Cardinal Tremblay would agree, that we must make the arrangements now,” D’Artagnan said.
“I agree. What will you need? We are a poor monastery, not materially wealthy as some are, but wealthy in spirit,” the abbot said, “but we can provide food and drink and, I would think, a horse and small cart for him to ride in.”
“That is much appreciated, but Cardinal Tremblay has already provided a horse and is financing the journey. I do have need of the cart, though. I have friends who should be able to go along to assure safety. But I need to ask you another question. How many of the brothers here know the identity of your patient?”
“Well, when he was brought in to us it was very late and not many of us were awake. There was some disturbance, of course. The Night Watcher let them in and roused me. Two or three other brothers were awake and helped carry him to the table where he was examined by our resident healer, Brother André. Our ‘patient’ was badly wounded and needed immediate care, so those present did what needed to be done. Some of them went to the chapel to pray. But the rest of the residents were left sleeping and were not told of his identity.”
“So only those five or six of you that were present know who he is? Are you sure of their loyalty?” D’Artagnan asked.
“Their loyalty?” the abbot replied. “Of course they are loyal. They are men of God.”
“I mean their loyalty to the Crown. Were you told of what happened to cause the Cardinal’s injuries, and what happened to the others in his party?”
“We were told that there had been an attack and that everyone, except the three that came here, were killed,” the abbot said.
“Do you know any details of that attack?”
“No, just what I told you. Can you say what the details are? Who was killed? What can you tell me?”
D’Artagnan thought for a moment, and made a decision. “The news will come out, and probably soon. It might be best if you, yourself, know what happened, but please, no one else must know until it is made public to everyone.” He took a breath. Cardinal Tremblay hadn’t authorized him to reveal the details, even to the abbot, but he continued anyway. “The party was going to visit the Queen in her confinement. The cardinal had received news that the birth would be soon. He advised the King that he was going, and His Majesty insisted on going along, disguised as one of the guards. The instigators of the attack had gotten word somehow of what was going on and staged the attack, killing the king along with all the guards except the one that guided the cardinal and his secretary to you.”
The abbot gasped, “But how could someone know. Did the cardinal tell anyone in the court? Anyone who had reason to want the king dead? Or the cardinal, even? How did they know where to go?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know. I do know that Monsieur Gaston, when he receives the news, is certain to claim the crown for himself. That is where the danger to this abbey lies. Gaston and his brother, César Vendôme, hate Cardinal Richelieu. If the attack was orchestrated by them, then the cardinal was probably their target. That the king was also killed would be a welcome bonus to them. That is why the cardinal must be moved as soon as possible.”
“Of course. I will see that your provisions are ready when you need them.”
“Thank you, but, as I said, Cardinal Tremblay has provided what we will need. I must go back to Paris to collect my friends, the horse and instructions on where we are to go.”
“Go with God, my son. Be safe. I think the future of France may lie with you.”