Читать книгу The Cardinal's Red Lily - M. von Strom - Страница 8

D'Artagnan stood on Rue St. Honoré, his back to the Louvre and the Palais Cardinal in front of him. He had been staring at the huge town palace for quite a while. By now it seemed to stare back at him.

The rest of Paris only slowly awoke from its nocturnal twilight state. Scattered carriages tore the fog to shreds as they drove past, but the first faint light of the day was still not enough to banish the mist out of the streets. The few passers-by were tightly wrapped in their coats and went by quickly. No one paid any attention to the lonely officer, who was visibly struggling.

After a very short night, d'Artagnan had convinced himself how ridiculous Rochefort's offer was. However, his reflection above the wash bowl looked back in a very tired and exhausted way. As he carefully touched his black eye, he argued with himself that he could at least listen to what the cardinal had to offer. D'Artagnan shaved and sneaked out without waking up his Chevrette.

Further minutes passed by, the dawn was flowing over the roofs and a change of watch was rung in. A familiar process, only in the wrong palace. Angered, the former musketeer chewed on his beard, finally pulled his feathered hat deeper into his forehead and marched towards the Palais Cardinal. No one stopped him as he left the pillar-framed archway and crossed the front courtyard. But as he approached the entrance to the main wing along the gallery, two red-clad guardsmen were already waiting for him. With blatant scepticism they followed his movement and finally blocked his way at the stairs.

ʹCahusac. Sorel.ʹ D'Artagnan nodded at them. They knew each other in the rival troops. Cahusac had fought against Athos in the famous duel at the carmelite monastery one decade ago. Although this happened half an eternity ago and Cahusac had turned grey, no one among the musketeers nor the guards had forgotten the incident.

ʹMonsieur le lieutenant.ʹ greeted Cahusac harshly and with just enough politeness that it could not be interpreted as sarcasm. ʹWhere to?ʹ He asked monosyllabically, not for lack of respect. Speaking was difficult for him, his voice sounded hoarse. He had been injured by Athos at his throat back then and Cahusac had been bearing the consequences until today.

Sorel stood by in the background, ready to intervene immediately in case of doubt. He was young, in his mid-twenties and in his second year of service. He had yet to earn his spurs and watched the lieutenant, who was barely older than him, carefully without being worried or even intimidated. Sorel still lacked experience of war, but his right hand rested confidently on the handle of the blade. He wore a narrow gold ring on his finger.

Apparently, no one had yet told the guardsmen that they and d'Artagnan were from now on involuntary allies. On another day, d'Artagnan might have been amused by the distrustful behaviour of the two men. Now, however, this delay made him angry in the light of a difficult task. ʹI am invited, step aside!ʹ

ʹNo.ʹ Cahusac replied concisely and his young comrade spoke up for him. ʹWith all due respect, we will not do so until you can prove this invitation.ʹ Sorel sounded almost amused. The lad was a real teaser, he grinned challenging. However, his demand for proof was entirely justified and d'Artagnan would have pulled the wool over the eyes of his own musketeers if they had let anyone into the Louvre on the basis of a single claim. Cursed Rochefort for not having considered this!

ʹAh, what if I cannot prove it? Will you shoot me down on the spot? Messieurs are going to do a lot of explaining, Jussac will be beside himself with joy. My word of honour will have to suffice.ʹ

At the mention of their own lieutenant, the guardsmen hesitated. Cahusac obviously had a sharp answer on his tongue. That a word of honour alone would not suffice here might be connected with old resentment; the scar on his throat was a constant reminder of his first encounter with d'Artagnan. On the other hand; lieutenant de Jussac would indeed not be grateful for the riot, for an arrested officer or even a dead man on the steps. Captain Luchaire was too much of a politician, he left dirty matters to his substitute. While Tréville was happy to enter into any confrontation with Richelieu personally, Luchaire fulfilled his duties from his desk. The captain of the guards was a civil servant, an administrator. Jussac was thus given more responsibility and d'Artagnan rightly referenced him.

Cahusac finally decided with a nod to Sorel. ʹJoin him!ʹ

The younger one was saluting eagerly. He seemed to gladly take on the role of a nanny. D'Artagnan wondered for a brief moment whether he himself had shouted ʹYes!ʹ at the beginning of his career, so enthusiastically and impishly. Sorel was refreshingly innocent and the former musketeer looked at Cahusac with a raised eyebrow. ʹI know the way to His Eminence's study very well.ʹ

ʹThither? Good.ʹ Cahusac pointed behind him with an inviting gesture. D'Artagnan saved himself another sinister look and passed the veteran soldier. With two steps Sorel caught up with him and could not be shaken off or persuaded to turn back.

In the palace, another gallery soon followed the stairs. Richelieu had the former Hôtel d'Angennes magnificently furnished after the purchase. It had already been spacious before, now it could be called highly glamorous, even pompous. Every corner reflected the influence and power of the owner, from the porticoes to the famous gardens. The palace could have belonged to a king because of its sheer size and pomp.

ʹThis way.ʹ Sorel took the lead, and d'Artagnan had to admit reluctantly that the guardsman took a shorter route to their destination than the lieutenant would have chosen. On the way, they met some liveried servants, every now and then also a maid. Soon the whole household would know who was a guest today.

D'Artagnan, with a trained eye, noticed other guardsmen at their posts at seemingly important double doors or stairways, apart from the byways that Sorel and he followed. The sight stung him. An intact guard in the wrong uniform coat. What mockery and ridicule the musketeers would have uttered if the cardinal's guards had been disbanded! But Jussac must have inculcated in his men to keep a low profile and, for the good of the town, not to provoke a dispute about it. That too was aching.

At the gullwing door to the study of the prime minister, two other men stood guard. Sorel greeted his comrades and without further ado or discussion they were allowed to enter the anteroom. Cahusac had indeed made a wise decision not to let d'Artagnan go alone. Sorel was his pass.

D'Artagnan pulled himself together. He had to overcome his own resentment, put his pride aside and act wisely. Serenity instead of anger was required here. He took a few steps into the antechamber, Sorel on the other hand turned to leave, which earned him a surprised look from the lieutenant. The young guardsman seemed to suspect the unspoken question and answered it with a shrug. ʹCahusac waved you through on your word of honour. I have accompanied you, and that settles the matter.ʹ

D'Artagnan nodded slowly. Apparently, he still enjoyed a reputation among his enemies for keeping his word. They gave him far more credit than he was giving himself. He waited until Sorel had left, then he went on alone. Apart from a liveried servant, who watched over the arrangement of chairs and benches along the walls, no one else was present. Well, almost; the lieutenant was also patterned by Rochefort, who happened to be at the other end of the room at the door, which leads to the actual study.

D'Artagnan suppressed an impulse to defiantly cross his arms. He was decidedly too old for such gestures, even though Rochefort was too fond of paternal kindness and forbearance towards him. Instead, he marched over and greeted, ʹYou should have told your master's guards that I had been summoned.ʹ

ʹI would have. If I had actually expected you to show up.ʹ Rochefort made no secret of the fact that he had almost given up on the lieutenant after their conversation yesterday. All the more sarcastically, d'Artagnan remarked, ʹFor so many 'if' and 'would have' you wait for me with surprising patience.ʹ

ʹI prefer small chances, you know that. And I am apparently not waiting in vain, a good sign. How is your black eye?ʹ

ʹYou see signs where there are noneʹ, d'Artagnan announced brusquely, ignoring the question. ʹI may leave at any time.ʹ

ʹAt any time.ʹ Rochefort gave a silent order to the servant, who then left the anteroom. ʹBut only after this conversation.ʹ

He had hardly spoken when the door to the study was opened by another lackey. Obviously, d'Artagnan's arrival had already been announced and for a moment he was flattered that he seemed important enough not to be kept waiting. Of course he was wrong. Rochefort restrained him by the arm as he was already about to cross the threshold.

At this very moment an elderly Monsieur marched out of the study in an angry hurry. D'Artagnan estimated him to be just over fifty years old, his hard gaze from grey eyes and the upright posture referred to a confident character. The expensive clothes, his whole appearance suggested a nobleman of no small rank. A comte or even a duke? A steep pleat stood on his forehead, undoubtedly this man had fallen into conflict with the prime minister. One had to dare to do that with Richelieu!

D'Artagnan could not assign a name to the monsieur, neither from the face nor from the colours he wore. He could not be a frequent guest at royal court. Or his status meant there was no need for him to be permanently near the king and cardinal. There were two other men in his retinue, undoubtedly a personal guard in everyday clothes. An adjutant or secretary and some younger relative perhaps, well trained and loyal.

D'Artagnan immediately evaded respectfully as the monsieur walked past him. His companions followed him in a hurry because of the old man's determination. In passing, d'Artagnan was only honoured by a fleeting glance. Rochefort even received a disapproving frown. They seemed to know each other.

The stable master bowed his head respectfully and d'Artagnan did the same as if he had been ordered to do. Rochefort said half-loud, intended more to enlighten the friend than as an actual greeting, ʹMonseigneur de la Nièvre.ʹ He received no reply.

The name did not sound familiar and a few moments later the three visitors left the anteroom. Their footsteps faded behind the door and d'Artagnan considered this whole encounter unreal. When he looked up again, Rochefort was no longer beside him. Shortly afterwards, he understood the sudden haste with which the stable master had entered the study and where the lieutenant finally followed him into; Richelieu looked bad. The usually so unapproachable, powerful man stood bent over at his desk, as if the responsibility weighed too heavily on his shoulders after all these years of tireless duty. A fine film of sweat gleamed on his forehead. He looked pale, weakened. Now he coughed violently. Rochefort was beside him immediately and handed him a crystal glass of fresh water.

D'Artagnan remained standing undecidedly in some distance. While Rochefort looked after his master, d'Artagnan closed the door discreetly. Partly to make himself halfway useful in this quite unexpected situation, partly to be able to turn away with an excuse and not stare at the cardinal. He covered up his embarrassment by looking at the room. The furnishings were functional. Large windows let in the daylight. The heavy velvet curtains were probably only for decoration, similar to the valuable, heavy tapestry on the opposite. The lieutenant could not identify the motif on the goblin. Something historical or religious, probably, d'Artagnan had never dealt with such things. He was a man of arms and not of art. Therefore, the countless books and codices in the shelves did not only look sumptuous to him but also intimidating. Could a single man read so much in his life? Which of the books were even written by Richelieu himself?

But it was the dark rosewood desk that dominated the study. The furnishings had changed over the years, but the desk remained and seemed to have taken on parts of its owner's personality. It was impossible to imagine how many documents had been lying on it that had determined the fate of a state, a continent, ah! the whole world. The desk was treated with respect, even when the cardinal was not present.

The cough finally died down and d'Artagnan raised his eyes to His Eminence. Richelieu had taken a seat in his armchair and although he still looked pale and exhausted, he sat upright and measured him with an agile mind. Rochefort remained by the cardinal's side, who now imperiously commanded d'Artagnan to approach. ʹUsually you would not think of the lieutenant of the musketeers as a restrained man,ʹ Richelieu commented hoarsely, but with sharp sarcasm. ʹStop guarding the door!ʹ

Abruptly d'Artagnan disengaged from his post and stepped in front of the desk, a no less biting answer on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it down and replied instead, ʹI am in a position where restraint suits me, Monseigneur. I have finally learned that lesson.ʹ

ʹHave you? Your black eye tells a different story. Not to mention Rochefort's account of it.ʹ

ʹYes, not to mention it,ʹ d'Artagnan said with a sinister glance at Rochefort. Then he turned back to the cardinal and looked past Richelieu's left earlobe, at the golden letters of a codex. ʹRochefort mentioned an offer, called it a business. You want my blade for the red guard.ʹ

Richelieu smiled thinly. ʹFamous gascon openness, almost impudence. Good. It was to be feared you would have indeed come to your senses.ʹ

New anger was seething in d'Artagnan, but he controlled himself. He could not let this chance slip away by his own hothead. Even if, apparently, he had only been summoned to be humiliated instead of getting to talk business with the cardinal, d'Artagnan said, ʹIt is always wise to listen.ʹ

ʹWell then, an open word.ʹ The cardinal gave a sign to Rochefort, who now took over and proved that yesterday he had by no means shown his cards completely. ʹYou have just met the Duc de la Nièvre and his entourage.ʹ

When d'Artagnan reacted to this with nothing but a blank face, Rochefort added, ʹThe husband of a niece of Cardinal Richelieu.ʹ

Hardly wiser than before, d'Artagnan frowned. A nephew by marriage who, for some reason, could afford not to kowtow to the prime minister. Probably la Nièvre himself was influential and powerful enough to do so, albeit on a different level than royal court politics. Family affairs, family quarrels. What was that to d'Artagnan? ʹHe is causing trouble?ʹ

ʹHis daughter is the trouble maker,ʹ Rochefort noted succinctly. ʹOdette de la Nièvre. She has disappeared. Having previously fled an arranged marriage into the Palais Cardinal under the protection of her great-uncle Richelieu.ʹ

D'Artagnan felt a slight touch of headache. Apparently the nephew had fallen out with his uncle and was pursuing a marriage policy against Richelieu through his own daughter. ʹMonseigneur did not agree to this proposed marriage either, so he granted protection?ʹ

ʹAstutely detected.ʹ

ʹGet to the point!ʹ

Rochefort waited for the cardinal to give his approval, then finally declared, ʹYou shall find us the mademoiselle again.ʹ

ʹ...in the red guard.ʹ For a moment the musketeers' lieutenant saw the image of a girl dressed as a soldier. Before he could decide whether to find such a masquerade either ridiculous or brave, Rochefort again disturbed his thoughts. ʹThe mademoiselle has a mind of her own and no longer wanted to be a guest here. She was not abducted, we already know that much. No, she voluntarily went into hiding somewhere in Paris to escape all influence - both from her father and the cardinal. We suspect she was receiving help from the palace when she disappeared.ʹ

ʹI see.ʹ D'Artagnan could no longer refrain from a mocking smile. ʹThe master spy cannot find the spy among his own ranks.ʹ

The cardinal remained silent and Rochefort ignored the last remark. ʹThis is where you come in. His Eminence's guard is always present in the palace. The best excuse for you to be here and ask around.ʹ

It was a convincing argument, but d'Artagnan still doubted the plan. ʹWill it be sufficient to find the mademoiselle's friends? I would like to keep my stay in the guard and in the Palais Cardinal as short as possible.ʹ

ʹIt will take as long as it takes.ʹ At last Richelieu spoke again, and despite his frail health, he did not lack authority. ʹYour reward will not be small.ʹ

ʹThe musketeers?ʹ

ʹYes.ʹ

ʹMe as their new captain-lieutenant?ʹ

ʹPossibly.ʹ

ʹMercy for Tréville?ʹ

ʹA good word with His Majesty.ʹ

D'Artagnan remained thoughtfully silent. The offer was good, very good indeed. It was more than he could have hoped for. Rochefort had not promised the moon in this respect. Finding a rebellious young woman again did not seem to be too difficult of a task. There must have had been a catch somewhere. One that he could not see at all.

The lieutenant's period of reflection seemed to have elapsed, as the prime minister was now calling for a decision. ʹWell?ʹ

ʹYes.ʹ D'Artagnan bowed his head resigned to fate and wondered for a moment that it had not been cut off right away. When he lifted his gaze again, his head still sat on his neck intactly, yet there was little benevolence in Richelieu's next words. ʹYou are hereby called up in my guard. You will assume the rank of common soldier.ʹ

ʹWhat...?ʹ Before d'Artagnan could fully comprehend this shocking opening, the prime minister continued harshly, ʹYou are demoted until I decide that you have proven your worth. No more pub brawls. You will learn discipline!ʹ

Rochefort suddenly found himself next to his friend and put a reassuring hand on his arm before d'Artagnan would have risked his head after all. ʹStart at the bottom and you will have more room for manoeuvre in your investigations than as an officer. Do you understand?ʹ

The question was asked so urgently that the degraded lieutenant slowly nodded without thinking. The cardinal had once given him the officer's licence, the cardinal had taken it away from him again. He listend to Richelieu's ʹReport to your superior officer for duty tomorrow morningʹ, as if frozen.

ʹYes, sir.ʹ D'Artagnan forgot the salute when he abruptly turned on his heel and marched out of the study without looking back.