The Cardinal's Blades (27 page)

The hurdy-gurdy player waiting before saying, as if with regret: “It’s an old story.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know all the details.”

Laincourt grew all the more impatient as he didn’t know the reasons for such reluctance.

“I’m not in the mood to drag this out of you. You’re supposed to keep me informed and serve me, aren’t you?”

But the other man still seemed hesitant.

“Tell me everything you know!” ordered the young man, raising his voice.

“Yes, yes.… All right.…”

The hurdy-gurdy player drank some wine, wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and, giving Laincourt a reproachful look, said: “A while ago, La Fargue commanded a group of men who—”

“—carried out secret missions for the cardinal, yes. This much, I already know.”

“They were called the Cardinal’s Blades. There were no more than ten of them. Some would say they did the cardinal’s dirty work for him. Personally, I would say that they were both soldiers and spies. And at times, it’s true, assassins—”

“‘Assassins’?”

The hurdy-gurdy player made a face.

“The word is perhaps a little strong. But not all of France’s enemies fight on the fields of battle, nor do all of them advance to the beat of drum and preceded by a banner.… I don’t need to tell you that wars can also be waged behind the stage and that many deaths take place there.”

“And for there to be deaths, someone has to cause them.…”

“Exactly. But I remain convinced that the Blades have saved more lives than they have taken. Sometimes you have to cut off a hand to preserve the arm and the man that comes with it.”

“What happened at the siege of La Rochelle?”

Once again surprised, but now on guard, the old man lifted an eyebrow at Laincourt.

“If you’re asking that question, boy, then you know the answer.…”

“I’m listening to you.”

“The Blades were given a mission that, no doubt, was meant to hasten the end of the siege. But don’t ask me the nature of it.… Whatever it was, La Fargue was betrayed.”

“By whom?”

“By one of his own men, by a Blade.… The mission failed and another Blade lost his life there. As for the traitor, he managed to flee.… And as for the siege, you know how it ended. The dam that prevented the besieged forces in the town from being reinforced by sea suddenly broke, the king had to recall his armies rather than risk the financial ruin of the realm, and La Rochelle became a Protestant republic.”

“And after that?”

“After that, there was no longer any question of the Blades.”

“Until today.… What do the Blades have to do with the Black Claw?”

“Nothing. Not to my knowledge, at least.”

The dragonnet had fallen asleep. He snored softly.

“La Fargue’s return no doubt signals the return of the Blades,” Laincourt declared in a low voice. “It must have something to do with me.”

“That’s by no means certain. The cardinal always has several irons in his fire.”

“Be that as it may, I would prefer not to have to watch my flanks as well as my rear.…”

“Then you chose the wrong path, boy … entirely the wrong path.…”

Later, as Laincourt ventured back out into the night, a black dragonnet with golden eyes discreetly took flight from a roof nearby.

24

La Fargue was galloping through Paris at Almades’s side. He had just come out of the Palais-Cardinal and found the master of arms waiting for him with their horses. They rode along the École quay and crossed a deserted Pont Neuf at full speed.

“His Eminence wants Malencontre?” the captain was saying loudly enough to be heard over the hoofbeats. “Very well. I can only bow to his demand. But nothing prevents me from dragging the truth out of the villain before I hand him over!”

“If the cardinal is asking for him, it’s because Malencontre is more valuable than we imagined. No doubt he knows a lot. But about what?”

“Or about who … ? If we believe the cardinal, whatever Malencontre knows has nothing to do with the affair that concerns us. We’ll see about that.…”

A short distance from Pont Neuf, they were forced to halt at the Buci gate.

They went forward at a slow walk between two crenellated towers, beneath a wide vaulted ceiling which made the horses’ hoofbeats echo against the paving stones like shots from a musket. The pikemen of the city militia called their officer over, who examined the riders’ passes in the lantern light and saw a seal—that of the cardinal—which opened gates everywhere in France.

The portcullis was already raised and the drawbridge lowered. But the enormous doors themselves still had to be opened and the sleepy militia soldiers were taking their time to remove the chains, lift the bar, and push the heavy iron-bound panels. They were wasting time that La Fargue knew to be precious.

He grew impatient.

“Hurry UP, messieurs!”

“Malencontre was still doing poorly when we left,” Almades said to him. “He had barely regained his spirits and wasn’t—”

“That doesn’t matter.… I will make him spill what he knows in less than an hour. By force if necessary. Whatever the cost.”

“But, captain—”

“No! I did not agree to hand this devil over in good condition, after all. He doesn’t even have to be alive, come to think of it.…”

At last they were able to pass and spurred their horses on to cross the foul muck-filled ditch before riding quickly through the streets of the faubourg. They burst into rue Saint-Guillaume just as Guibot was closing the gates to the Hôtel de l’Épervier. Almades slowed down, but not La Fargue. He entered at a full gallop, obliging the old porter to jump aside while pushing one of the panels of the coach gate back open. La Fargue’s horse had to pull up abruptly in the courtyard as the captain jumped down from the saddle and rushed over to the main building … and found Leprat sitting, or rather sprawled, on the front steps.

Bare-headed, with his doublet open and his shirt untucked, his wounded leg stretched out before him, the former musketeer was leaning back, supported by his elbows against the last step. He was drinking, without thirst, straight from a wine bottle. His rapier, still in its scabbard, was lying nearby.

“Too late …” he spat. “They took him away.”

“Malencontre?”

Leprat nodded.

“Who?” insisted La Fargue. “Who took him away?”

The other man swallowed a last mouthful, noticed that his bottle was empty, and threw it against a wall where it shattered. Then he picked up his rapier and heaved himself up.

“It looks rather as if, in summoning you, the cardinal only wished to draw you away, doesn’t it?” he replied in a bitter tone.

“Spare me that, will you? And answer my question.”

“Rochefort and his underlings, of course.… They just left. They had an order signed by His Eminence. An order that Rochefort seemed particularly pleased to wave under my nose.”

“I couldn’t have foreseen that! I couldn’t know—”

“Know what?” Leprat flared. “Know that nothing at all has changed? Know that the cardinal continues to play his own game with us? Know that we are puppets with him pulling the strings? Know that we count for so little … ? Go on, captain, did the cardinal even tell you why he was taking Malencontre from us? No, I think not. On the other hand, he was careful not to announce his decision until you were powerless to do anything about it.… That should wake some familiar memories in you. And it stirs up just as many questions.…”

Disgusted, Leprat limped back inside the house.

He left La Fargue behind, who was joined by Almades leading their horses by their bridles.

“He … he’s right,” murmured the captain in a tight voice.

“Yes. But that’s not the worst news.…”

La Fargue turned toward the Spaniard.

“Guibot,” explained Almades, “just told me Rochefort and his men brought a coach in which to carry Malencontre off. That means the cardinal not only knew we were holding him but also that he was not in a fit state to ride a horse.”

“So what?”

“We were the only ones who knew that Malencontre was wounded, captain. Just us. Nobody else.”

“Which means one of us is informing Richelieu on the sly.”

25

After making sure the front door was shut, the young woman extinguished all of the lights except one on the ground floor and, candlestick in hand, walked upstairs protecting the wavering flame with her palm. The candle illuminated her pretty face from below and set two golden points aglow in the depths of her eyes, while the creak of the steps was the only sound to be heard throughout the house.

Once she reached her bedroom, she set down the candlestick on a table and, undoing the chignon that held up her long dark hair, went over to close the window which had been left ajar behind the curtains. She had started to undo the lacings of her dress when someone seized her from behind and placed a hand against her mouth.

“Don’t cry out,” murmured Marciac. “I won’t harm you.”

She nodded, felt his grip on her relax, and broke free with a vicious blow of her elbow. She rushed to her bedside table and turned around brandishing a stiletto.

Marciac, who suffered less from his painful ribs than from hurt pride, stretched out his hand in an appeasing gesture and, keeping his distance, said in a voice that he also hoped was calming: “You really don’t have anything to fear from me. On the contrary.”

He was worried that she might injure herself.

“Who … who are you?”

“My name is Marciac.”

He stepped cautiously to one side, but the young woman, on her guard, followed the movement with the point of her stiletto.

“I don’t know you … ! What are you doing in my home?”

“I have been hired to protect you. And that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

“Hired? Hired by whom?”

The Gascon was willing to gamble here.

“The man who just left you,” he ventured. “Castilla.”

That name caused the wary gaze directed at Marciac to falter.

“Castilla … ? He … he said nothing to me.”

“He was afraid of worrying you unnecessarily. He paid me and told me to stay out of your sight.”

“You’re lying!”

With a swift gesture, he reached out and seized the young woman’s wrist and, without disarming her, forced her to turn around against him. He now had her firmly in his grasp, but he was trying not to hurt her.

“Listen to me closely, now. Time is short. Some hired swordsmen are preparing to abduct you. I don’t know who they are. I don’t know exactly what they want with you. All I know is that I won’t let them have their way. But you must trust me!”

As he said these words, there was a sinister squeak of hinges, coming from the ground floor.

“Do you hear that? They’re already here.… Do you understand, now?”

“Yes,” replied the young woman in a lifeless voice.

He released her, spun her around again, and, placing his hands on her shoulders, looked straight into her eyes.

“What’s your first name?”

“Cécile.”

“Do you have a weapon, other than this toy?”

“A pistol.”

“Armed and loaded?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. Get it, and put on a cloak.”

Without waiting, he left the bedroom and went to the stairs. He listened carefully, and could pick out the sounds of men coming up the steps in single file, as silently as possible. He waited until the first arrived on the landing and, emerging from the shadows, struck him a blow full in the face with a stool.

The man tumbled backward, knocking over his accomplices and provoking a debacle. Cries rose as the thugs struggled with one another on the stairs. For good measure, Marciac threw the stool down at them blindly and scored a hit, adding to the confusion.

By now Cécile was there with him, wearing a large cloak with a hood. He led her toward a window which he opened. It looked out over a side alley, less than a metre away from a balcony. The Gascon passed the young woman over to the other side before joining her. From the balcony, he climbed onto the roof just above, then stretched his hand down. Cécile caught hold of it and he brusquely pulled her up just as one of the swordsmen reached the window. The man attempted to seize her dress, but his fingernails only clawed at the fabric. The young woman cried out. Carried by the momentum of his violent heave, Marciac fell backward and Cécile collapsed on top of him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

They picked themselves up.

One of the thugs had already leaped onto the balcony. He was climbing up when the Gascon surprised him with a powerful kick of his boot which smashed his jaw and sent him tumbling six metres to the ground below.

With Marciac keeping hold of Cécile’s hand, they fled together across the tangled maze of abutting rooftops. A shot rang out and a pistol ball crashed into a chimney as they disappeared behind it. They heard the assassins hailing one another and organising the pursuit—some on the roofs, some down on the streets. They climbed up to another roof, their figures standing out for a moment against the starry sky and offering a perfect shot to an eager marksman, but Marciac was able to get a general idea of their situation from this vantage point. He knew they would have to come down again eventually. Rather than wait until they were backed up against an impassable drop, he headed toward a deep, dark hole that marked the position of an inner courtyard.

There they found an immense scaffold, the vestiges of an abandoned work site, attached to the three storeys of a condemned building. As Marciac lowered Cécile and let her drop onto the temporary framework a swordsman appeared out of nowhere. The Gascon drew his sword and a duel ensued. The combatants confronted one another on the ridge of the rooftop. As they crossed swords, they moved back and forth to the rhythm of their strikes and counterstrikes between the sky and the waiting depths. The tiles which they dislodged with their feet fell in a cascade and bounced against the scaffolding before shattering in the courtyard, fifteen metres below. At last, parrying a cut and seizing his opponent by the wrist, Marciac attempted to throw him over his shoulder by pivoting suddenly. But his hold was poor and he lost his balance, dragging the thug who still held him along as he fell. The two men rolled and toppled off the roof. Before Cécile’s eyes—who stifled a cry of horror—they crashed through the highest catwalk of the scaffold and landed on the next one down. The impact shook the entire structure, which swayed for a long moment. Boards and beams groaned. Cracking noises could be heard, indicating further sinister developments to come.