M. von Strom - The Cardinal's Red Lily

Sorel blamed himself silently as he took the next staircase with verve. He had let himself be distracted by private affairs. Very engaging, pretty private affairs, with a charming smile and full lips, from which he had found it difficult to break loose. He had almost forgotten Jussac's order to pick up a new comrade. Just in time for the morning roll call he had remembered and now he had to hurry up.

On the last distance Sorel fell first into a relaxed trot and then back into normal marching to calm his quick breath. The newcomer did not need to know that he had almost been forgotten. At the double door to the antechamber Sorel nodded at the two comrades on duty, Meunier and Forgeron, and entered. A quick glance through the room showed the usual scene; a valuable, polished wooden floor, an elaborate tapestry on the right, glazed windows on the left, upholstered chairs for waiting guests. No one else was there.

ʹHuh?ʹ Confused, Sorel let his eyes wander once more, but the antechamber remained abandoned. Should he dare to enter the study itself? The young man hesitated. It would have been highly unusual for a new recruit to appear before the cardinal on his first day of service.

ʹI'm not the only one late, am I,ʹ Sorel murmured, half amused and half annoyed. He turned on his heel and stepped outside the door again. ʹMeunier! Has there been anyone wandering around here in the last few minutes who would have looked conspicuously nervous, lost, but insanely proud of himself at the same time?ʹ

The mentioned guardsman smiled leniently. ʹSorel! You mean just the way you looked like at your first day?ʹ It had long been known that a new recruit was to join their ranks today. Sorel pulled himself up to his full height and was still half a head smaller than his comrades. ʹI am justly proud of myself!ʹ

ʹWell, of course.ʹ Meunier shrugged. ʹNo, there was no one around.ʹ

ʹJussac will be overjoyed...ʹ Sorel did not need much of an imagination to presage the lieutenant's scowl. Not a good way for the new recruit to start.

ʹOver there.ʹ

Sorel turned to look into the direction that Forgeron suddenly pointed towards. In fact, a man marched up with a resolute step, he had pulled his feathered hat low over his forehead and looked utterly grim underneath. It took Sorel a moment to recognise him. ʹMonsieur d'Artagnan again?ʹ

Meunier snorted contemptuously and Forgeron watched the appearance of the former musketeer attentively. D'Artagnan approached them and seemed to have understood clearly what the guards were exchanging among themselves, for he showed a combatively expression. Perhaps it would have been more impressive if he had not still been adorned by a gradually fading black eye. Unconsciously, Sorel put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

D'Artagnan noticed this gesture and got a hold of himself. At the entrance to the palace, Cahusac had detained him once more. Rochefort had apparently again failed to announce that he could be admitted. After a brief exchange of words, the guardsman let him pass, today without an escort. Small wonder, since his nanny was already waiting at the study's double doors and eyed him curiously. ʹSorel.ʹ D'Artagnan greeted him with a neutral face and glanced at the other two guardsmen. Complete distrust was evident from their attitude. Great, that was how he had imagined his future life at the red guard. The next weeks would be full of serenity and pure joy for sure!

ʹ Monsieur le lieutenant ,ʹ Sorel replied politely, and d'Artagnan was taken aback. Lieutenant? Did they not know that from now on he had to serve as the least of them? For the moment he left it at that and asked, ʹWhere is your superior officer to find?ʹ

Sorel continued to watch him carefully. He seemed to be more shrewd than his comrades, who were stubbornly silent. Sorel, on the other hand, was able to put two and two together. ʹUnless you mean Captain Luchaire, then Jussac is in the guardroom.ʹ

D'Artagnan nodded and returned a half-hearted ʹMy thanksʹ. Yes, he meant Jussac. The cardinal's guard numbered several hundred, almost a thousand men on horseback or on foot, plus ensigns and lieutenants. But the hand-picked palace troop of 60 guardsmen, who were always present, was primarily under Jussac's command. Right after the captain, of course. ...and where was this guardroom located?

ʹI will lead you.ʹ Sorel noticed the surprised looks by his comrades and smiled apologetically. ʹEn route I might meet someone who has lost his way.ʹ

Meunier frowned, but did not comment. Forgeron also seemed to agree with Sorel's assumption that the new recruit was wandering around somewhere in the palace and had not asked his way to the meeting place. D'Artagnan waited until Sorel had taken the lead and followed half a step behind him. The young man smiled amusedly, self-confident and proud. He seemed to be at peace with the world and himself. Unlike his companion, who did not want to be reminded of whom he had been himself many, many years ago and grumpy demanded, ʹJust tell me where I have to go. I will find the guardroom on my own.ʹ

ʹCertainly, monsieur le lieutenant , you would, but I am bound by Jussac's orders.ʹ

ʹWhat orders?ʹ

ʹTo take the new recruit to him.ʹ

D'Artagnan silently congratulated himself on his reckon up of Sorel's character. The lad was a real clever. When would his shrewdness become his downfall? ʹYou will keep your mouth shut until I have spoken to Jussac!ʹ

ʹUnderstood!ʹ Sorel replied blithely. He shot the supposed lieutenant a curious side glance. D'Artagnan looked back so grimly that the young guard quickly swallowed all questions and concentrated only on the way ahead.

The guardroom also seemed to be an arsenal. While the guards carried a pistol discreetly hidden under the tunic during duty, muskets were stored in the room in case of an attack. A tiled fireplace dominated the rear wall and provided warmth, in front of it were rows of wooden tables and benches. D'Artagnan noticed that on one of the tables there lay a deck of cards, on another one a game of dice. Meals seemed to be handed out here, as a few bowls and cups left behind showed.

At the moment there was nobody on call here. Maybe the change of guards just started or the guardsmen were assembling in the yard for morning roll call. The only person sitting at one of the rear tables, close to the fireplace, absorbed in a narrow book, was the lieutenant of the regiment. D'Artagnan mutely told Sorel that he could manage the last steps without his company. The young guardsman withdrew immediately and without contradiction, apparently he still believed in the higher rank of the other.

D'Artagnan waited until the door closed behind him before stepping deeper into the lion's den. Jussac did not make a move to indicate whether he had noticed the presence of the other man. He seemed completely absorbed in his reading and did not look up even when d'Artagnan remained standing only two steps away from him.

Moments passed when the former musketeer wondered whether he should either brazenly draw attention to himself or continue to disparage himself by waiting for a sign from the gracious lieutenant. Jussac, however, only turned the page. D'Artagnan could not read the title of the book, but now he spotted a page with the anatomical drawing of a dog and some explanations. The text seemed to have been written in Latin and immediately d'Artagnan's interest hit rock bottom. He cleared his throat.

ʹHeaven forbid, who-ʹ Jussac snorted over the book, but he finished the question in disbelief, ʹ-you?!ʹ when he recognised the disturber.

D'Artagnan could not blame him. Nor was he pleased to be here, standing at attention and getting it over and done with in one quick and painless sentence. ʹReportingforduty, sir.ʹ