Читать книгу The Cardinal's Red Lily - M. von Strom - Страница 4

The Hôtel towered up stony and unyielding in front of the visitor. It was an impressive and magnificent building, unparalleled in its pomp and size. The gate wings were closed, their copper-coloured fittings shined dully in the light of the setting sun. Above the archway was a coat of arms; a golden lion in a red field, wrapped around it in a banner with the motto; Fidelis et fortis.

The main entrance to the Hôtel de Tréville was always locked at night, when long shadows fell on the street and the other houses nestled together for protection. Paris was a blindingly beautiful woman by day, enticing and beguiling. At night she was a whore, old and worn out, always holding a knife behind her back.

This morning, the gate has not been reopened to let the daily, endless stream of visitors pass into the Hôtel. Now the afternoon has already been leaning towards the evening. The inner courtyard was lonely and deserted. The horse stables were abandoned, as were the utility rooms. The extensive staircase at the entrance hall was no longer the scene of an everyday siege, and no one had to find a way past the many guests and musketeers to the captain's cabinet; it was locked and when a hand cautiously pressed the doorknob, the door did not open.

Less surprised than concerned about this fact, Lieutenant d'Artagnan tried again by knocking emphatically. But there was no one left in the rooms, which that had served as the headquarters of His Majesty's Musketeers for many years. The regiment was disbanded, the officers dismissed. What remained was an unusually empty house and a former lieutenant of the Musketeers, who was visibly struggling with himself to finally turn away and leave into the uncertain.

Steps approached d'Artagnan from behind and he heard a familiar voice saying, ʹIt has become very quiet.ʹ The words were spoken softly, almost in a whisper, as if the orator feared the echo that could reverberate unbroken from the bare walls. ʹOne will have to get used to it.ʹ

D'Artagnan hesitated noticeably before turning around. ʹThat will not be easy, mon capitaine.ʹ He showed a bitter smile. Ten years of tireless service for king and fatherland, ten years between life and death on countless battlefields, had not left the lieutenant unaffected.

Monsieur de Tréville, tired and apparently deprived of all his strength in just one night, waved off his former subordinate who was bowing respectfully to him. ʹPolite and embarrassed formalities have been exchanged enough. I am not your captain anymore.ʹ He leaned against the banister and glanced down into the hall of his house. Tréville had fought many battles over the years, brave and faithful, as his family's motto on the archway manifests. But now the captain looked years older, exhausted from politics and the wars at the royal court of Louis XIII.

It was only after a while, during which he remained absorbed in his own thoughts and seemed almost to forget the presence of the other man, when Tréville asked, ʹWhat leads you back here?ʹ

D'Artagnan shrugged. Had old habit summoned him? Or was it nostalgia that haunted him painfully? Or did he not want to accept a defeat without a fight and searched the Hôtel for brothers in arms? Tréville was the only one who could have gained a victory in this kind of political war, but he seemed to be finally defeated. It frightened d'Artagnan, who could neither be accused of being afraid of death nor the devil. ʹIt is over?ʹ

ʹYes.ʹ A very sober word without contradiction. It did not sound as if the decision of a prime minister and a weak king could be reversed in any way. The regiment of musketeers remained disbanded, for it had fallen victim to courtly intrigue.

In a spontaneous gesture, forgetting all formalities and differences in rank, d'Artagnan leaned against the banister next to his captain, also letting his eyes wander. He knew every detail in the entrance hall, every notch in the parquet flooring, every impurity in the window glasses. The impressions had burned in over the years, it only became clear to him with the loss. ʹWhen will you come back, mon capitaine?ʹ

Tréville smiled fugitively about the the special emphasis with which d'Artagnan pronounced his old rank. ʹI am banished in disfavour.ʹ

ʹWrongfully!ʹ

ʹYou think so?ʹ

D'Artagnan was too upset to even briefly be in doubt. ʹYes! Mordieux, he who calls you a traitor is one himself!ʹ

ʹWatch your words!ʹ reproved Tréville. ʹThe house may be deserted, but there are still plenty of rats.ʹ

ʹLet them burrow in the dirt, I fear them not!ʹ

ʹThen you are a fool.ʹ The captain pushed himself off the banister to follow the stairs down.

D'Artagnan hesitated, but he was not yet as melancholy as Tréville was. With a few determined steps, he was therefore back at the captain's side. ʹThere must be a way to prevent this!ʹ

ʹYou will do nothing! Do you understand, monsieur le lieutenant? The king's word is law and you still have a bright future ahead of you.ʹ The two men reached a side gate, an unadorned door out into the street, intended for the servants. Like a thief, Tréville was now about to sneak away, leave Paris and never return.

D'Artagnan knew nothing more to say. Everything would have been inappropriate and wrong, and so he remained silent and dejected as Tréville boarded a carriage. An escort on horseback stood ready. It would ensure that the traveller reached his distant destination in the Gascony.

ʹGood luckʹ, Tréville said in parting. D'Artagnan murmured to the departing carriage, ʹTo you too.ʹ

And then he was left alone with his bright future.