Sarah D'Almeida - Dying by the Sword

In Rochefort’s eyes, for just a moment, there was something of a fellow-feeling and a look of understanding. “As I assume the Cardinal would say, we must worship the presence of Christ in the sacrarium and not the vessel itself.”

Athos shrugged. “I would say something akin to that. But while one might, on occasion, destroy the sacrarium, one should never destroy the King. Which doesn’t mean one should take a great interest in his life or that of his relatives, either. I have gathered, from gossip, that the King’s marriage is an unhappy one, and the only reason that matters to me is that it reduces the chances of France’s having an heir and, therefore, lays the kingdom open to the depredations of foreigners intent on seizing the throne. My only interest in Monsieur, therefore, is that he is the heir to the throne and stands between us and a disputed throne. Whom he marries signifies little, next to the imperative that he marry and sire children for the crown.”

“It is the Queen Mother’s only interest, also, I believe. That and that Mademoiselle de Montpensier carries with her a large dowry as well as all the ancient dignities and powers of that branch of the Bourbons. Her mother was a Joyeuse and the Queen made much of her and… indeed, of the daughter. In fact, you could say the Queen Mother has been planning this match since before Monsieur was breeched. The sum of this all is that, Monsieur being seventeen, the King has granted permission for the marriage to take place.” He looked at Athos, half in wonder, as though meeting a strange creature, and half in amusement. “If you do not listen to gossip, it is possible you don’t realize this would throw into disarray several people who have an interest, direct or indirect upon the throne and the fate of Monsieur and any heirs he might sire, in particular.”

Athos frowned. He did not, in fact, take any interest in gossip. However, he had been born and raised as a nobleman, sitting night after night at his father’s table, in their domains de la Fere, and listening to the discussions that washed up in their rural province, like echoes of a far-off sea. And then, after all his ambitions and hopes and desires had come to an end in the person of a beautiful blond woman marked with the fleur-de-lis of infamy upon her peerless shoulder, he’d come to court. There, he could no more hope to avoid being immersed in gossip than a fish could hope to avoid being immersed in water.

And the gossip ran rife, of course, as it would, since the twenty-five-year-old King had no heir and his fraught relations with his wife made it very unlikely indeed that he would have any. For a time-and perhaps still, though Athos refused to enquire-there had been a running pool among the more daring of the musketeers about who might sire the heir of France.

Oh, not themselves. The duchesses, princesses and minor noblewomen at court might disport themselves with the dashing young men, though even they-themselves-were not so zany as to allow their heir to be conceived by one such. Stories might abound-they always did-about how this or that heir to this or that domain favored this or that nobleman. But it was all nonsense, and of this Athos was fairly sure.

The Queen, like Caesar’s wife, must be above reproach and as such, she could not have it rumored about her that she slept with this or that musketeer-and in as crowded an environment as the palace, the gossip would fly far and wide, if she so much as favored one of them with a look or permission to kiss her hand.

No-the names on whom the hope of an heir for France rested, at least to believe some irreverent musketeers, were higher and more carefully guarded: Buckingham had for a time been a favorite, lending an air of intrigue to every one of his visits to France; then came Richelieu himself, though it was rumored by many that he had indeed made the attempt and been spurned; after that were many would-be contestants-almost every nobleman in France, truth be told.

But to Athos it had always seemed that-though the gossip didn’t scandalize him as it scandalized Porthos who had more than often threatened to duel someone for it-as much as they ran pools and gossiped and amused themselves with such, the musketeers didn’t believe the Queen would stray. Nor indeed did anyone else.

In fact, considering the position of queens as almost strangers and often suspected of insufficient loyalty to their adopted land, it seemed strange to Athos that any of them ever strayed. It was a brief pleasure, surely, and not worth the beheading that would follow.

Therefore, everyone expected the throne to, eventually, devolve on Monsieur, Gaston d’Orléans, the King’s younger brother. And after that, he knew that some families were waiting, in the full expectation that neither of the royal brothers would produce heirs, and the throne would thereby devolve to them. “I have,” he admitted, “heard the princes of Conde and Soissons speak as though they quite counted on the throne being theirs one day. In fact…”

“In fact?”

“In fact, to the extent that I’ve paid attention to such gossip, which, if you permit me, seems exaggerated considering his majesty is still young and, though not in the best of health, might yet live for decades-it was to worry that if ever it came to such a pass, those two houses between them might tear the kingdom apart.” And, afraid that Rochefort would think this fear hyperbolic, “They have pride and greed enough for that.”

“I agree, they do,” Rochefort said, his voice expressing his surprise that Athos and he might agree on anything. “And I confess they were two of the people on whom the news of Monsieur’s intended marriage fell heavily. They cannot, after all, count on the throne, if Monsieur sires a child at eighteen. So, you see… they were unhappy. All the more so since Monsieur de Soissons has for some time been trying to make his own arrangements with Mademoiselle de Montpensier.”

“You think the Duchess de Chevreuse is acting for them?” Athos asked. It didn’t seem an impossible idea. After all, De Chevreuse had a reputation for intriguing for the sake of the intrigue itself.

“It is possible,” Rochefort said. “All the more so since there are intimations that the fair lady has had some veiled correspondence with the two of them. And we’ve heard their names fall in conversation with the Queen.”

“But then her interest in this Captain Ornano must be…” Athos said. “That he might yet convince the Prince to refuse to marry Montpensier.”

Rochefort smiled. “You are wasted in the musketeers, Monsieur le Comte,” he said, and bowed. “If you worked for the Cardinal, your genius for intrigue would be rewarded as it deserves.”

“If I worked for the Cardinal,” Athos countered, “my good manners forbid my explaining what I would deserve, since you, yourself”-he gave a small bow-“have that honor. Reward would not be exactly the word for it though. Remember my father made me a speech on serving the monarchy.”

“We each serve it as we see best,” Rochefort said.

“And if De Chevreuse is doing this,” Athos said, changing subject, “what proof have you it is not at the behest of Soissons, who perhaps still wishes to marry Mademoiselle de Montpensier?”

“Or her dowry,” Rochefort said.

Athos bowed. He knew why most men married. He had not done so, but that was perhaps to his detriment. Certainly, considering whom he had, indeed, married, to the discredit of his good sense and judgement.

“It might be at the behest of Soissons,” Rochefort said. “But the truth is, she has talked to the Queen about replacing the Cardinal with someone more amenable.”

“Which you must know is the dream of most of the nobility in France, and not exactly treason in itself.”