M. von Strom - The Cardinal's Red Lily

Biscarat seemed to think about it while the rest of the guardsmen was already smirking. D'Artagnan had a sense of foreboding when the other Gascon nodded with a much too friendly smile. ʹAn introduction.ʹ

Suddenly d'Artagnan found himself hooked under the arms and in the middle of his new comrades, who immediately marched off as a merry group, dragging him along with them. They knew by now that he had been demoted and that they were not attacking any superior officer. ʹWhat the hell are you doing?!ʹ he shouted against Bernajoux and Biscarat, who marched ahead and led the group down from the yard to the laughter of the remaining guardsmen. He received no reply and after a pointless attempt to break away, he surrendered.

D'Artagnan did not have to puzzle over their destination for long. It could be smelled before it was heard too; the stables of the Palais Cardinal . The smell of horse manure, straw and the animals themselves hung intensely in the air and the damp, misty weather intensified it even more. D'Artagnan only got a brief glimpse of the horses in their compartments, as he was led straight into the back of the stables. The hostlers were clever enough to make themselves invisible as the noisy and frighteningly cheerful group passed by with an unhappy recruit in their midst.

Soon they left the roofed part of the stables and d'Artagnan resisted only half-heartedly. He achieved nothing more than to be grabbed even tighter. The stench of filth and dung had become overwhelming here in the backyard. The procession took a halt and Biscarat turned to the former musketeer. ʹNow you have got an idea.ʹ

ʹIt is blatantly obvious,ʹ d'Artagnan growled back and understood perfectly what was meant. The guardsmen were superior against him in every way, and this whole 'introduction' served only to point him out to his low-ranked position. The warning had reached him.

Bernajoux put a hand on the shoulder of his friend when he seemed to hesitate. Biscarat might have ended the matter here and now, because the supposed enemy had been put in its place and he kept calm. But the comrades did not want to be here for nothing, so the half Spaniard stepped aside.

D'Artagnan's arms were suddenly released, but a fierce thrust in the back made him stagger and because he could just manage to steady himself, someone tripped him up. Face first, the former lieutenant's fall ended in horse dung. Instinctively, he tried to get back up on his knees and was shoved down again accompanied by the cheers and spitefulness of the other men. He spat out and tried to straighten himself up, only to be doused with a bucket of more dung.

The choreography of this baptism had been long rehearsed, often practised. A disgusting liquid dripped from the brim of his hat into d'Artagnan's neck. He did not try to get up again and grudgingly endured the laughter. Probably all newcomers had to endure this humiliation. D'Artagnan doubted that the guardsmen would always be throwing their own uniforms into the dirt. This was reserved solely for former musketeers, so that they too would make a certain introduction of themselves to the senior officers on their first day of service.

Another recruit would now have reached out a hand to help him out after the traditional bath in horse dung. He would have been pulled back up on his feet, patted on his shoulders and thus be officially accepted by the guards. In the evening, there would have been a mutual celebration in their favourite tavern. But now the guardsmen congratulated each other only among themselves on their successful prank. Bernajoux was the first to turn away abruptly and leave the court. Soon the other men followed him and did not hold back with ridicule. One even threw a clean handkerchief to d'Artagnan. When he raised his eyes, he looked into Biscarat's face. There was neither triumph nor compassion in it when he said, ʹIt is your choice now.ʹ

D'Artagnan nodded, spat again and laboriously got up on his feet, disgusted by the unspeakable globs and fluids sticking to and under his clothes. He waded out of the dung heap and was just about to say a word to Biscarat, when he decided to do the same as his comrades and therefore walked away without looking back.

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