The Cardinal's Blades (40 page)

“If one is to believe monsieur de Tréville,” Richelieu continued, “the man known as Malencontre duped your man, stole his things, and escaped his prison cell in disguise, taking advantage of the changing of the guards. If monsieur Leprat were not the man that he is, this might be believable.…”

“No one is infallible, monseigneur.”

“Without a doubt, indeed.… Naturally, the most regrettable aspect, beyond monsieur Leprat’s hurt pride, is the loss of Malencontre. Do you have any idea of where he is to be found?”

“None at all. But it seems to me that the capture of the marquis de Gagnière compensates for his loss. Malencontre served Gagnière. And the master always knows more than his creature.”

“So we have come out ahead in this exchange.”

“Yes, monseigneur. Considerably.”

“We shall see.…”

The cardinal turned his gaze to the window.

“How is the baronne de Vaudreuil?”

“She is recovering.”

“And the others?”

“They’re all in the best of form. These last few days of rest have been very beneficial for them.”

“Good, good.… But there still remains the fact that I ordered you not to interfere.”

“That’s true.”

“Père Joseph warned me about your insubordination. Do you have anything to say in your defence?”

“Yes. I believe that Your Eminence did not wish to be obeyed.”

“Really?”

“I believe that Your Eminence knew that I would not abandon one of my … one of your Blades. I believe that Your Eminence had foreseen that I would be led to confront the Black Claw. Finally, I believe that Your Eminence could not do other than to give me the orders that he gave me, out of fear of displeasing Spain. But despite all that, Your Eminence wanted me to pursue matters.”

“And from where do you draw this sentiment, captain?”

“First of all, from the concern you have for the welfare of France, monseigneur.”

“Very well. And then?”

“Nothing obliged you to tell me where Malencontre was being detained. In doing so, you gave me the means to take the next step without risk of annoying the ambassador extraordinary of Spain. Thus, appearances were saved.”

The cardinal smiled. His eyes crinkled and shone with an unspoken satisfaction.

“You will understand, captain, that I can only deny all this.”

“Indeed, monseigneur.”

“Know then that I condemn your initiative …”

La Fargue nodded.

“… and that I congratulate you.”

The old gentleman betrayed a hint of a sly smile.

He realised that he would probably never know what Richelieu had or had not known since the beginning of this affair, what he had chosen to say or had preferred to keep silent, or what he had pretended to believe or had secretly guessed. The Blades were a weapon that the cardinal used as he pleased.

Richelieu rose and, a signal honour, accompanied La Fargue to the door.

“I should like, captain, for you to reflect on the proposal that I am about to make to you.…”

“Monseigneur?”

“It concerns a certain young man of great worth who has served me well. Unfortunately, things turned out in a manner that prevents him from regaining his position among my Guards. Nevertheless, I do not wish to lose him. But if you should deign to accept him among the Blades …”

“His name?”

“Laincourt.”

“Is he the man who—”

“One and the same, captain.”

“I promise you that I shall think upon it, monseigneur.”

“Excellent. Think upon it. And give me your accord soon.”

2

“It’s me,” announced Leprat after knocking on the door to Agnès’s bedroom.

“Come in.”

The young woman was still in her bed, more out of laziness, however, than necessity. She looked well and the scratches on her face would not spoil her beauty. The platter Ballardieu had brought her was set down next to her. Leprat noticed with satisfaction that it was almost empty.

“I came to see how you were feeling,” said the musketeer.

Then pointing to a chair: “May I?”

“Of course.”

Agnès closed her book, looked at Leprat as he sat down, taking care with his wounded leg, and waited.

“So?” he asked after a moment.

“So what?”

“Are you feeling well?”

“As you can see … I’m resting.”

“You deserve it.”

“I believe I do, yes.”

There was an awkward silence during which Agnès became amused by Leprat’s embarrassment.

But she finally took pity on him and said: “Go ahead. Say it.”

“You were reckless in letting yourself be abducted by those men.”

“I didn’t know who they were, in fact, and that was precisely what I was counting on finding out. Furthermore, there were five or six of them and I was unarmed.”

“Nevertheless. When you saw Saint-Lucq in the street, you could have … Between the two of you, with surprise on your side …”

“I know.”

“Things could have turned out very badly.”

“Yes. The Black Claw could have established a lodge, here, in France.”

“That’s one way of looking at it. But why did you go there, to begin with?”

“To Cécile’s house?”

“Yes.”

“You know very well. To find out what she was hiding there. To find whatever Saint-Lucq managed to find before me, acting on his secret orders from the captain. If I had known that …”

Leprat nodded, with a distracted gaze.

Agnès narrowed her eyes and leaned forward to look at him squarely.

“That’s what you’ve come to speak to me about, isn’t it?”

“He’s changed. He’s not the same as he was.… I … I think he’s distrustful of us.”

And with an ill-tempered gesture, his voice vibrant with impotent anger, Leprat added: “Of us, damn it! Of his Blades!”

The young woman, sympathising with him, laid her hand upon his wrist.

“We have Louveciennes to blame for that. When he betrayed us at La Rochelle, he might as well have stabbed La Fargue in the heart. He was his best friend. His only friend, perhaps.… And that’s not even including the death of Bretteville and the shameful dissolution of the Blades. That memory must be branded by a red-hot iron in his mind, and it burns him still.”

Leprat stood up, limped toward the window, and let his gaze wander over the rooftops of the faubourg Saint-Germain.

“The worst part …” he finally admitted, “the worst part is that I think he’s right to be wary of us.”

“What?”

“Of one of us, in any case.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

He turned toward Agnès and explained: “We were the only ones to know that we were holding Malencontre. But that didn’t prevent Rochefort from coming to claim him after a few hours. So the cardinal knew we had him as well. Who told him?”

Sensing a feeling that she did not like at all come over her, the young baronne played devil’s advocate: “There’s Guibot. And Naïs, who we don’t know from Adam and Eve, after all.”

“And you really believe that?”

“Do you suspect me?

“No.”

“So then, who? Saint-Lucq? Marciac? Almades? Ballardieu … ? And why couldn’t it be you, Leprat?”

He stared at her without anger, looking almost hurt: “It’s anyone’s guess.…”

3

The comte de Rochefort was waiting in one of the confessionals in the Saint-Eustache church when, at the appointed hour, someone sat down on the other side of the opening occluded by tiny wooden crossbars.

“His Eminence,” Rochefort said, “reproaches you for not having warned him about La Fargue’s plans.”

“What plans?”

“The ones that permitted Malencontre to escape from Le Châtelet.”

“I didn’t know about them.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“That’s difficult to believe. So where is Malencontre hiding?” the comte demanded.

“La Fargue gave him his liberty in exchange for the information that allowed them to rescue Agnès. And, in the process, to strike a blow at the Black Claw. If he has an ounce of good sense, Malencontre has already left the kingdom.”

“That’s regrettable.”

“I had rather imagined that defeating the Black Claw would be cause for rejoicing.…”

“Don’t be clever with me. That’s not what we’re paying you for.… Did you know that this so-called Cécile was in fact La Fargue’s daughter?”

There was an eloquent silence.

“No,” the man said finally.

“Well, now you do. His Eminence wishes to know where she is.”

“In a safe place.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“Cécile, or whatever her name may be, is simply a victim in this whole affair. She deserves to be left in peace.”

“No doubt. But you haven’t answered my question.”

“And I won’t answer it.” The man’s tone led Rochefort to understand that it would be futile to insist.

“As you will,” the comte said resignedly. “But I have to tell you, Marciac, you’re hardly earning your wages.”

4

In the courtyard of the splendid Hôtel de Tournon, an escort of gentlemen sat on their horses near a luxurious coach. They were waiting for the
comte de Pontevedra, who was about to take the road back to Spain. The secret negotiations had lately taken an unexpected turn, and having been prematurely interrupted, failed to reach any conclusion. It only remained for the ambassador to return to Madrid in order to inform the king and his minister Olivares.

Pontevedra was finishing preparing for his journey when a last visitor was announced. He displayed a certain astonishment on learning his name, hesitated, thinking, and then indicated that he would receive him unattended in a salon.

La Fargue was already standing there when he entered.

The two men stared at one another for a long time. They were roughly the same age, but one had become a gentleman of court and intrigue while the other remained a gentleman of war and honour. It was not, however, the comte de Pontevedra, ambassador extraordinary of Spain and favourite of His Majesty Felipe IV, that the old captain regarded so impassively. It was Louveciennes, his former brother-in-arms and in bloodshed, the sole true friend that he had ever had and the man who had betrayed him.

“What do you want?”

“I came to tell you that Anne, my daughter, is safe and well. It seemed to me that you deserved to know that.”

Pontevedra gave a twisted, mocking smile.

“‘Your daughter’?”

“She is my daughter and you know it. Indeed, you have always known it. As have I. As did Oriane. And now Anne knows it as well. Just as she knows who you are.”

A hateful mask disfigured the ambassador’s face.

“What have you told her?” he spat.

“Nothing. I am not that kind of a man.”

“So how does she know?”

“A letter from her mother. Oriane, who you never loved as much as she deserved.…”

“A reproach that cannot be made of you,” retorted the comte.

He had venom on his lips and a flame in his eyes.

“I have long regretted our conduct that night,” admitted La Fargue.

“A handsome excuse!”

“Oriane also regretted it as well. But that was before La Rochelle, before you revealed your true nature, before you turned traitor.”

“I made a choice. The right one. And to convince myself of that all I need to do is look at you. You have nothing. You are nothing. While as for me …”

“You are merely rich. And Bretteville is dead because of you, Louveciennes.”

“I am the comte de Pontevedra!” shouted the former Blade.

“We both know who you are,” said La Fargue in a calm voice.

Turning away, he already had his hand on the doorknob, when Pontevedra, crimson-faced, cried out: “I will find Anne. Wherever you are hiding her, I will find her!”

The captain spared a thought for his daughter, whom he did not know and even dreaded meeting. For now, she was where no one would be looking for her, in rue de la Grenouillère, entrusted thanks to Marciac to the good graces of the beautiful Gabrielle and her comely lodgers.

That, however, could not last.

“No,” declared La Fargue. “You will not find her. You are going to forget about her.”

The ambassador burst out laughing.

“How are you going to force me? You can’t do anything against me, La Fargue! Nothing!”

“Oh, but I can. You have used your post as ambassador to pursue a personal ambition. You have schemed and you have lied. In doing so, you have seriously compromised your mission and betrayed the trust placed in you by your … king. You have even, in demanding that the Blades and I search for the so-called chevalier d’Ireban, gathered together men who will soon, no doubt, be a source of complaint for Spain. You wanted us because we are the best? Well, here we are. Do you believe that Richelieu will now wish to deprive himself of our services? No, Louveciennes. The Cardinal’s Blades are back, a development that your masters will have cause to regret before long.… So, think about it. Do you really want this to become known?”

“Don’t threaten me.”

“I exchange my silence for my daughter. You have no choice.… Oh, and one last thing …”

“Which is?”

“The next time we meet, I will kill you. Have a safe journey back to Spain.”

La Fargue left without closing the door.