Dying By The Sword Part 15

Aramis had a vague idea of having met with this treatment before, but the adventure he'd just undergone had given him fresh insight into the possible causes of this. "I think," he said, as he crossed his arms, "that you have quite the wrong man. You see, I'm not Pierre."

"Not Pierre?" the leader said, and looked so confused that, for a moment he halted his advance and lowered his sword. "What do you mean by this, that you're not Pierre?"

"Well, I would think that is glaringly obvious," Aramis said, hearing creep into his voice the peevish tone that he normally used to explain some point of theology to his religion-blighted friends. "If I were Pierre, I would be Pierre. But as it chances, I'm not Pierre. I am Re-I mean . . . I am Aramis." He took his hat off and bowed, very correctly.

At which point the furies of h.e.l.l broke loose. At least that's what Aramis thought at the time, though later on, on reflection, he realized that someone had got into the backyard of one of the nearby houses and opened the pens containing the usual collection of domestic animals. Or perhaps more than one backyard, since a veritable bedlam of pigs, chickens, and a few very frightened goats rushed onto the street at the same time.

Bewildered, not quite sure where he was, thinking that perhaps he had gotten off at one of the various isolated farmhouses they'd stopped at, Aramis heard, through the din of bleating, oinking and cackling, a familiar voice saying "Run, your musketeerness. Run."

It seemed like as good an idea as any, and, besides, Aramis had always had a horror of living poultry, since, at the age of two, he'd been attacked by the family farm's very territorial rooster. He ran.

He dodged a pig, stepped over a chicken, might possibly have stepped on another chicken's neck, and thought it was a pity that Mousqueton wasn't there to put it out of its misery and bring it to his friends, and then, running along a broad thoroughfare, realized that he was supposed to go to his friends. He was supposed to warn them that something was very seriously wrong.

From the color of the sunset, in the horizon, he suspected that his friends might very well be home, that is, if whoever she was-this woman-hadn't got their heads, as she wished to. Either that, or Paris was burning, and Aramis hoped Paris wasn't burning, otherwise all the chickens would get roasted before they were plucked and cleaned.

Vaguely recognizing the area he was in, he changed directions, and ran towards Rue Ferou, where Athos's residence was. He arrived there out of breath, and knocked on the door, until it was opened by a very disapproving-looking Grimaud.

Aramis thought someone might overhear him, since he was outside, on the doorstep, so he leaned in close and said in what he thought was a whisper, and yet boomed confusingly in his ears, "Grimaud, fetch your master."

"Monsieur Aramis!" Grimaud said.

"Yes, yes," Aramis said. "I'm out of breath. I was running. The thing was, she's out to kill us all, and the chickens are about to get roasted." At which point and unaccountably, he lost his hold on verticality and started tilting forward. Grimaud stopped his fall and yelled, "Bazin, curse you, leave your rosary beads, your master needs you!"

And then the world went a long way away from Aramis.

Where Athos Is Inspected; The Lady Is the Tiger; And Porthos Disappears

ATHOS separated from Porthos, taking only the time to ask a pa.s.sing gentleman in what appeared to be the livery of the Queen's house, where exactly the d.u.c.h.ess lodged. She was, as he should have expected, quite close to the Queen's own chambers, in the sort of s.p.a.cious apartments that were the envy of late-arrived provincials come to Paris to beg for royal favor.

It wasn't till Athos found himself outside her door that it occurred to him to wonder if perhaps she wasn't in at all. But a knock on the door brought him a sharp command to identify himself, and Athos, deciding that obfuscation was the best part of value and that he wasn't actually technically lying, said, "The Comte de-" and mumbled the rest.

The door flung open, and he stood staring at a child who could be no more than eight, attired in a becoming maid outfit, with a much-beribboned ap.r.o.n. She looked up at him with huge eyes, and he made her a very correct bow, all the while conscious of being watched. He knew, without looking up, that the d.u.c.h.ess was just on the edge of the door and looking at him, evaluatingly. "Mademoiselle," he said, using his most polished accents, which were very polished indeed. "I crave the favor of a word with the d.u.c.h.ess de Chevreuse."

Fast footsteps approached the door, and an amused voice said, "Don't be silly, Josephe, let the count in."

The woman who appeared fully in Athos's field of vision was, quite frankly, a vision to behold. She was blond, and had the sort of rounded face with perfect features that always makes its possessor look very young and very innocent. Wide open grey blue eyes and a slightly tilted-up nose contrasted with a full, luscious and very adult mouth, to make the countenance bewitching. What followed beneath the neck was bewitching as well, as the pink and white neck gave way to the pink and white, rising b.r.e.a.s.t.s, nestled in a dress that was so low-cut that all it did was hold them up without covering them in the least. Athos could quite easily see the pink edges of her aureolas, and turned his head away before his eyes might discern that he could catch a glimpse of pink nipples amid the cream lace.

Looking away and up, he found himself being scrutinized with equally intent gaze and, from the lady's slightly parted lips just breaking on the edge of a smile, he had to a.s.sume that she approved of what she saw. Her eyes shone appreciatively as she took in the wealth of very slightly wavy silk-fine black hair and she said, "You're the Comte de . . . I'm sorry. I didn't catch the rest."

Athos smiled back, one of his practiced smiles that meant very little. "I would prefer not to give my family name. In the musketeers I am called Athos."

"Athos!" Her hands met, in an almost clap at her chest. "You are a friend of a very great friend of mine, then.

"Aramis, madam, if that is whom you mean."

"Aramis, exactly." She smiled at him, almost mockingly. "While I completely understand, monsieur, the need to go into hiding and wear an a.s.sumed name-in fact I'm sure if I were a man, I'd have killed a great many men in duels-I cannot understand why both of you must choose such strange names. And there is a third to your group of odd names, isn't there?"

"That would be my friend Porthos, madam."

"Oh, yes, the big one that everyone says is seeing a foreign princess. He always scares me a little. Too much man there, if you know what I mean."

Athos had not the slightest idea what she meant, and, as in all such situations, contented himself with bowing deeply.

She giggled as if he'd performed a particularly clever trick. "Please, come in, Monsieur le Comte," she said.

Athos thought that lately everyone seemed obsessed with his dignity, but he went in, all the same, and bowed again to the bewitching d.u.c.h.ess who, while watching him as if he had been a particularly luscious pastry, said, "You may close the door."

Full of misgiving, considering all he had heard about the d.u.c.h.ess and her approach to men, Athos closed the door and turned around, trying to keep his face utterly impa.s.sive. "Madam, in the last two days, your name has been mentioned to me a great deal, in a variety of circ.u.mstances, some of which must give rise to the liveliest concern, insofar as-"

"Turn around," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Turn around," the d.u.c.h.ess said, and twirled her pink and white fingers in a motion, as though indicating in which way he could best please her.

Athos, never before having been ordered to twirl, except by his dancing master in the now very distant past, turned around slowly, hands at his waist. "What I mean, your grace," he said, "is that-"

"Do you ride, milord?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you ride?" she asked. "Horses."

"I know how to ride, if that's what you're asking, but I've found a horse is not much use to me in Paris, and a lot of extra expense to stable, so I only borrow a horse when I need to, and I only do that on service to the King or for emergencies."

"Do you dance, then?"

This was getting somewhat past the point of ridiculousness. "Not for many years now, your grace."

"So, there is no accounting for it."

"Madam?"

"Your shape. The way your legs are so well-muscled and your back . . . You must know it's very unusual in a man of your age, for I'd wager despite very few grey hairs that you will not see thirty again."

"I don't-"

"No, of course not. No use at all giving me details, though I daresay I could find them, you know? It is not hard, when you are well-formed and female, to ask whatever questions cross one's mind. People will tell you the strangest and most absurdly intimate things, all in the absolute conviction that you have not a brain in your head. Why is that?"

Athos was starting to wonder if perhaps he were drunk-if the monumental drinking spree of the night before could have clouded his mind to the point where he couldn't make sense of a simple conversation.

"Why is what?" he asked. "I don't have the pleasure of understanding you."

"No, I quite see you don't. Sorry to disturb you." She walked around him, clockwise, eyeing him with a most intent expression. "Do you have any sons, milord?"

"No!" Athos said.

She sighed heavily. "Pity." And then in an undertone, as though speaking to someone else altogether. "The devil of it is, I'm starting to understand why Aramis refused to present you to me. I'd only seen you from afar before, and I couldn't understand it. As you know, Aramis is not in the habit of mind of being insecure. But now . . ." She sighed again, and picked up a fan from a nearby table. "Now I wonder what he could mean by telling me you don't like women. Do you not like women, Monsieur le Comte?"

Athos didn't know what to do. He wasn't stupid, and despite his hangover headache, he knew very well that he was being made fun of. The problem was how he was being made sport of and by whom. If the countess had been a man, he could have challenged her to a duel three times over by now. But, alas, as his body was telling him rather insistently, she was not a man. And alas also, she was following no conventions of discourse, neither man's nor woman's.

He couldn't imagine how to respond to her without violating more than a few societal laws. And he didn't want to spin on his heels and leave her behind, because then, somehow, she would have won. And Athos would be d.a.m.ned if he allowed De Chevreuse to have the best of him.

"I like women well enough," he said.

She gave a pointed look. "Yes, I can see that." And with utter suddenness, sat down on a blue-upholstered armchair and raised her feet to rest on a little padded stool, so that her skirts fell back, revealing tiny slippered feet and a pretty, well-turned ankle.

He couldn't avoid looking. He would not have been human, had he managed it. She followed his look and smiled up at him. "Delightful slippers, are they not. The embroidery was done by little Yvette, one of my maids. It is the birth of Venus."

Squinting, Athos could see a lot of flesh tone, embroidered on black satin. To see the nude lady on the slippers would mean getting rather closer to the nude ankle, and then the lady would make some remark about his liking women well enough and the evidence of it being plain.

Athos clenched his hands by his side, and turned away, towards the window, where he stood for a moment, looking out, trying to collect his thoughts, and hoping that both the evidence of his interest in the fair s.e.x, and the pounding of blood through his temples that seemed to beat a rhythm to his headache, would subside.

"You asked to see me," the d.u.c.h.ess said. "I a.s.sume it was not to allow me to inspect your physique?" There was something pointed to the question, as though she very much hoped that he would yield to temptation and tell her that yes, it had been exactly that, and then proceed to remove his clothes.

Athos, who knew his Bible, knew that Christ had been led by the devil to a pinnacle, and from such height, been shown all the kingdoms of the world. He wasn't prepared to compare himself to his savior, but he would be willing to bet that Christ's refusal would compare to his in the Herculean strength needed to avoid temptation. He clenched his fists and took deep breaths, and, at length, managed to extract words from the dark ocean of thoughts rus.h.i.+ng through his mind. "I said, your Grace, that in the last two days your name seems to always be on the lips of someone, relating to something suspicious."

She took a deep, satisfied breath. "I like a good deal of intrigue, you know? Of all types. Life, otherwise, can be so horribly boring."

Athos turned around. There had been a note of sincerity there, and when he looked at her, her eyes were quite serious. He had heard De Chevreuse described as many things. Most often, people thought her a voluptuary. They thought she lived for the senses and that the senses alone interested her. Others thought that she loved playing with men-their minds as well as their bodies, and making herself the queen of a little male harem. Others, yet, thought she was more the victim than the victimizer, that she led men astray and enjoyed their pathetic attempts to escape but that she was so attracted to them she couldn't help herself.

Athos saw through all that, and to something else. In other days, he'd been often too reckless. The becalmed existence in his domains, much as he enjoyed the land and its inhabitants, had seemed flat. He remembered days of staring out over the still landscape, and wis.h.i.+ng he could go somewhere, and do something dangerous and pulse pounding. Perhaps all young people felt like that. Or perhaps his craving was extraordinary.

In the still hours of the night, when he was being exceptionally honest with himself, which usually happened right after he'd drank enough not to flinch from the truth, but not quite enough to make himself sodden drunk, he would admit to himself that he'd fallen for Charlotte because she was dangerous. Oh, he hadn't known it openly, but he was sure there had been signs, signs that his thoughts had missed, but his body hadn't.

Since then he'd found that this distressing tendency followed him. The only women to whom he reacted-or at least reacted strongly enough to forget his reserves and his pain, were dangerous somehow-hoydens or hussies, hedonists or viragos, religieuses religieuses, or painfully sharp.

It was quite possible, he thought, narrowing his eyes at the d.u.c.h.ess, that the d.u.c.h.ess de Chevreuse, at least if half the rumors about her and her alter ego, Marie Michon, were true, was all of those with the exception of being a professed nun. Though he would not put even that past her, should she ever find herself unenc.u.mbered by a husband. Not that she would stick to it. It would bore her after a very short time. He looked into those blue grey eyes locked on his, and felt for just a moment that he wished he were someone else-someone who could, impunely, get involved with her. He would have traded quite a lot to put his hands on either side of that dainty waist and carry her to the bed on the other side of the room.7 But he had duties to his friends, and more than that, should the woman involve him in some intrigue, not only could he be caught, but he could drag his name through the mud in all its splendid glory, when the details came out.

To protect his name, he had hanged his wife. To protect his name, he had given it up. Great as the temptation was, he was not about to discard his care for his name over this woman's lovely body or even her madcap, raging mind, that loved adventure and danger more than even he did.

"Madam," he said, making his voice very cold and very correct. "What I meant to say is that in the last couple of days you've been mentioned to me as running part of a plot that might involve regicide, and also that you might have been the instigator of a plot against my friend D'Artagnan."

"D'Artagnan! At least he uses his real name!" she said, then shrugged. "As for regicide, what fool can have told you that? Everyone knows I love the Queen as a sister, and as for the King"-she shrugged-"he is my sovereign and lord. Surely you would not accuse me of wanting to subvert the entire order of the court."

He looked into her eyes and sighed. "Madam," he said. "I would suspect you of wis.h.i.+ng to subvert the entire order of the world."

She laughed, as though his words delighted her. But strangely, her face acquired a grave look immediately after. "I see," she said, "exactly why Aramis didn't introduce you to me earlier. Where were you five years ago, Monsieur le Comte."

"Here. As a musketeer. As you see."

She raised an eyebrow. "Have you a wife?"

"That is . . . complicated."

"I see." She nodded. "Tell me at least that you were not free to offer for me ten years ago. Do tell me."

Ten years ago, he thought. She looked like ten years ago she would not have left her nursery. But he knew that she probably had. "I was not free," he said. "I was very far from free."

"Oh, good. That at least is one less complaint against fate," she said. And smiled archly. "And now you were telling me that someone had told you I wanted to get rid of the King. I don't know who it might be. If I would venture a guess, I'd say Richelieu, but I know you like him as much as I do, or possibly less. You must understand, though, I would never try to get rid of the King. Oh, I think as a man he is a bore and a burden. And also that he leads the Queen a very miserable life. However, he is my King." She shrugged. "There is a respect for the crown, if not for the man, and besides, you must believe I am, most sincerely, the Queen's friend. If the King were to die, then the Queen would be in effect deposed. Surely you can't suspect me of wis.h.i.+ng that?"

Athos wasn't sure about the rest of the torrential flow of words, but he was sure those last were true. She would not wish to leave her friend dispossessed, without a country. And, if the worst happened, the Queen would very likely be sent back to her parents' house, a dowager daughter, with no position and no power. She had never had a child. Her importance would be very small, and she might not marry ever again.

No. He didn't think De Chevreuse wished that for her friend the Queen. He'd heard that she had caused one of the Queen's many miscarriages by inducing the Queen into racing her along the hallways of the palace. That he could believe. It was the sort of reckless amus.e.m.e.nt that would come to her at a moment's notice. But the idea that she would deliberately set out to depose a friend . . . no. That he could not believe. Madcap and in love with adventure the d.u.c.h.ess might be. Ill-intentioned, never.

He inclined his head, conceding the point. "It was the Cardinal," he said. "But he said, first, that you intended to kill him, and then that you intended, perhaps, to kill the King. I will say I believed the first and not the last."

Her eyes danced with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Oh, if one were to be punished for wis.h.i.+ng to kill someone, then I would have lost my head on the gallows twenty times over." She paused. "Possibly twenty times each day. I do wish to kill the Cardinal, though I must say I don't think any of my plans has ever been good enough to achieve such a n.o.ble purpose." She looked at him and raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Monsieur le Comte doesn't think the purpose worthy?"

Athos raised an eyebrow, matching her gesture. "Monsieur le Comte," he said, "would have agreed with you in the heat of his early twenties. But he is now, as you've said"-he bowed his head at her-"past thirty. And being past thirty, he's started to wonder if all his best-intentioned actions have the effect he desires. Madam, we might get rid of Richelieu and saddle ourselves with something far worse."

"How so?" she asked, staring intently at him. "How might someone be worse than Richelieu?"

"He could be less intelligent, your grace. Anyone less intelligent would not only be worse for France, but he would not be nearly as good an adversary."

She laughed again, that delightful laughter, as though he had surprised her in the most wonderful way. "Perhaps, yes. That would be a pity. However, perhaps maybe a slightly less intelligent adversary would be good too? He wouldn't come so close to hitting the mark, quite so often. And Monsieur le Comte, you must know I am not at all sure of the Cardinal's being good for France."

Athos shrugged. "I'm never sure. Some people . . ." He shrugged again. "I am sure he thinks he's doing what's best for France. Not sure if it's truly the best. He's either a more far-seeing statesman than I could hope to be, even had my bend of mind run that way, or he is more ambitious than anyone I've ever read about, and more reckless. Think, though-who could have guessed the result of Brutus's a.s.sa.s.sination of Caesar. Brutus was-at least according to some-trying to preserve the republic, and yet he ushered in one of the most famous empires in the world. History is a tricky thing, when one is trying to write it."

She s.h.i.+fted her dainty feet, displaying yet more of her ankle in the process. "Milord, I have never wanted to write history. Just to make it go the way I wish it to for a very short time. If history is a river, I'm the boy floating sticks on it, milord. I don't think it will make any difference, in the long run."

He looked her over. "I would hope not, Madam," he said. "I would hope not. Most influence one can have on history seems to be bad."

She smiled at him. "What a dreary philosophy." And smiled wider when he bowed. "Let me tell you, though, that I have no intentions of having the King killed, so if what you wished was to ask me that . . . I have answered." She looked at him, impish and challenging.

"Well, someone else," Athos said, knowing he was skating on thin ice, but unable to stop, because he must ascertain how involved in this she was, "has told me that you had a letter addressed to the Duke de Vendome, the King's brother . . . and I wondered . . . since yet someone else has told me, that you have an interest in preventing monsieur's marriage to Mademoiselle de Montpensier."

"Certainly," she said, a little hot flush rising to the rounded cheeks. "Certainly I have an interest in preventing monsieur's marriage. The King's younger brother and heir to the throne is seventeen. How will it look if he has children? Everyone will then know that the royal line will continue that way. The King . . . Ah, the King is the King and he will retain his court. But the Queen will become utterly irrelevant-a woman without children, without a stake in the future. Both King and Cardinal mistreat her and ignore her now, when not actively planning to divorce her and set her aside. How do you think they will view her then." She finished the speech, her little fists tight in her lap, and she looked at him, as though thinking she must have scared or shocked him. "I beg your pardon," she said. "I told you I am loyal to my friends."

"It does you credit," Athos said, finding his voice unaccountably hoa.r.s.e. "To be loyal to your friends."

"So are you," she said. "From what I heard, and if I recall from your list, one of the accusations against me was that I had, somehow, managed to entrap your friends."

"Madam . . . The friend of another of my friends says that she heard you say that we would have a duel or a fight on our hands, and that you said it with such malice, she understood we were to fight a duel that night."

For just a moment, the d.u.c.h.ess looked baffled. It was not a put-on, but the surprised, utterly blank face of a woman who is struggling to recollect something and cannot find even a hint of it in her memory. Then, unexpectedly, her laughter pealed forth like a ringing of bells. She looked at Athos with a lopsided smile. "My dear sir, if what I referred to were a duel, the swords involved would be quite fleshy." And to his shocked expression, "Monsieur le Comte, if you must know, your friend, Aramis, had thrice put off a meeting with me. Once because-he said-the young Gascon needed him to be a second in a duel. The next time, because your friend, Porthos, was in need of comfort and company, his friend having put off her own meeting with him, because her husband was suspicious of their relations.h.i.+p. And the third time,"-with a little bow towards Athos-"because, you, monsieur, seemed troubled and were drinking and he was afraid you would again gamble money you do not have."

"Oh, last week," Athos said. "He was an infernal nuisance, I recall, and clung to me like a wet s.h.i.+rt."

The d.u.c.h.ess laughed, once more. "Aramis can be very earnest. It is easy to ignore that because he is also . . . well, wild and naughty in many ways. But it is the naughtiness of a good man, you know. His instincts are for good. And his broken heart troubles him more than he wishes anyone to know." She sighed. "Monsieur Athos, when I said you would have a fight on your hands, it was because I felt as if your friends.h.i.+p was wresting him, to be blunt, from my bed. It was that fight I referred to, and if your kind informer had listened more closely, she would have heard what weapon I intended to employ in bringing him to beg for quarter." She smiled, her lips slightly parted and moist. "But you spoke of conspiracy. Surely that could be no more than an idle threat. How did you think I had conspired?"

He longed to kiss her lips, to take her in his arms, to feel the round firmness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest. But he did not and could not even speak of it. Instead, he bowed a little. "I'm sorry. If you did not mean anything about a duel by that, it is highly unlikely you were implicated in a conspiracy." In truth, he wasn't at all sure of it, but he felt as if he couldn't think clearly until he got out of her presence. And yet, a part of him did not want to leave her at all.

"I am sure I am implicated in several conspiracies, most of them private, but I promise you I have no intention of hurting you or your friends. I am loyal to my friends, remember. And Aramis is my friend."