M. von Strom - The Cardinal's Red Lily

ʹThey have been mostly assigned to other regiments. Some of the musketeers are in the field against Spain at Arras. The officers have either retired from service and retreated to their estates or have been given new posts in the king's troops.ʹ While he was still pronouncing the last sentence, Rochefort understood the sudden interest in the king's former musketeers. It was brilliant.

Richelieu pretended to be thoughtful, pondering, when he said, ʹSurely there will be one among these officers who is dissatisfied with his fate. Someone who wants to see the musketeers reinstated. Perhaps even as their next captain.ʹ

Rochefort smiled knowingly. One of those officers had behaved so rebellious after the dissolution of the regiment that he initially took a lieutenant's commission without a post. ʹI will seek out this definite one immediately and make him an offer.ʹ

Richelieu raised his hand with a warning gesture. ʹDo it wisely! I want a soldier for my guard. Someone who has not belonged to this house before, but who will be in the palace every day from now on. Someone who will have to endure the contempt of old and new comrades and who, with ambition for another cause, will earn enough trust to find the mademoiselle for us.ʹ The cardinal took a sharp look at Rochefort. ʹNo musketeer, and certainly not this lieutenant, will accept such an offer. Monsieur d'Artagnan had refused our generosity a few years earlier, when his situation was no less difficult.ʹ

ʹI will find the right incentive. I know him.ʹ

ʹGood.ʹ Richelieu was visibly exhausted by the long speech, so he sat down at his desk. There he picked up the quill and pulled the manuscript towards himself. ʹReport back to me immediately.ʹ

ʹAs you wish, Monseigneur.ʹ After a last hesitation, when Richelieu seemed to be suppressing another budding cough, Rochefort left the study and went in search of an old friend.

The punch came from the right. D'Artagnan immediately fell to the ground and remained lying there dazed. He blinked disoriented and with a veiled look, not sure how he had landed on the tavern floor. Only his aching chin, where the blow had hit him, and the hammering in his head made him instinctively gasp for air. Just in time he saw the attacker draw out for a kick.

Before his ribs could make the acquaintance of a heavy working boot, d'Artagnan caught the kick with his hands. For a fraction of an instant, his opponent's face was covered with a bewildered expression before a roll to the side pulled him off his feet. In the same movement, d'Artagnan jumped up and faced the two companions of the craftsman. Two strong men, each half a head taller than the lieutenant himself. They were simple minded and extremely angry with him. They had necks like oxen and upper arms like rafters. Apparently, they earned their money with honest, hard work and only wanted to spend their wages in the tavern Three Crowns .

A rather drunk former musketeer had thwarted their plans when he got up from his seat at one of the back tables, but was no longer in control of his feet and had bumped into one of these good men. One outraged word gave the next and then a bare fist spoke.

The fact that d'Artagnan had taken their friend by surprise seemed to stop them from pouncing on him immediately. Maybe they had a spark of sense left in their heads not to mess with a fully armed officer. D'Artagnan was no longer allowed to wear the musketeer's tunic, but he had not renounced his nobility rights to the dagger and sword. He carried his pistol hidden under his cloak.

The other guests watched the spectacle and had not yet decided whose side they were on. A barmaid, on the other hand, had already run into the street and one could hear her calling for the town guard. The innkeeper had reached for a poker by the fireplace. Judging by his anxious expression, the gesture was more in defence than attack.

It would have now been wise to mumble half-hearted apologies and let the matter drop. But d'Artagnan still tasted the last cup of wine on his tongue and he was way too proud to retreat. ʹCome on!ʹ

The command was enough and three embittered lives collided. This time, d'Artagnan was prepared and dodged the first blow, only to strike in his turn. Except for a snort, his opponent was completely unimpressed. His sidekick jumped in and took the opportunity for another kick. D'Artagnan was hit in the knee and stumbled. He had also completely forgotten the third one on the ground. The man was back on his feet and grabbed the lieutenant from behind with both arms. The grip was relentless. The other two craftsmen grinned gleefully.

The other guests became restless. Some of them jumped up and cheered the opponents, because they wanted to see an exciting spectacle. Others took refuge before they would unexpectedly become part of the tussle. The first jugs and chairs were knocked over, insults flew through the tavern. The innkeeper looked pleadingly to the door to see if his maid had finally alerted the guards, but still no one shouted for a stop and an arrest.

D'Artagnan took the first blow with tense muscles, yet it almost drove the air out of his lungs. Instinctively, he writhed in the clasp - and got free. His success surprised not only himself. The entire Three Crowns held its breath as the craftsman groaned and collapsed. He remained lying with a bleeding wound at the back of his head.

ʹHave you not learned your lesson from the village of Meung yet?ʹ Rochefort put down a beer mug and took a step over the unconscious man on the ground to join d'Artagnan. He rebuked him, scrutinising him like a teacher scrutinised a pupil. ʹYou should only start bar brawls with a friend in your back.ʹ

D'Artagnan snorted disparagingly, without letting the two remaining roughnecks out of his sight. ʹThen better stay behind my back before you get a black eye.ʹ

ʹA black eye? The mob wants blood.ʹ

D'Artagnan pulled up an arm just in time to protect himself when a cup flew just past his ear. That was the general signal and where the spectators had just formed a semicircle, a beating crowd suddenly swayed back and forth. The lieutenant lost sight of Rochefort as he had to duck away in the confusion of the battle under a swing with a broken chair leg. Retreat had suddenly become a desirable option.

It was due to the good reputation of the Three Crowns that no weapons were drawn during the next few moments. The fight was nevertheless noisy and fierce, and even spread to the street in front of the tavern; one moment passers-by were peering curiously through the windows, and the next moment they were participating in fistfights, in which everyone was punching each other without really knowing why. The innkeeper pressed himself into a corner and someone realised that not only jugs and cups but also wine bottles could be thrown splendidly.

Glass shattered just above d'Artagnan's head and shards fell down onto his feather hat. He had stayed too long in one place and had become a worthwhile target. Cursing, he gave up looking for Rochefort and made his way past overturned tables and chairs. Two fronts fought with each other; left against right, maybe even front against back. Once one of the two parties was defeated, the remaining one would turn the conflict against itself until the town guards intervened.

D'Artagnan had no desire to be arrested and thus to lose the meagre remnants of his reputation and honour, which he had still retained. A man came running towards him with his fists raised. He tripped him up and then looked around in the breathing space. At the back of the taproom, a door led out into the courtyard; and there was Rochefort.

The stable master did not seem to have gotten a scratch, at most his coat had gotten a bit messy. He waited at the door until d'Artagnan had found a way to get to him with further ducking and evading. They exchanged glances, then he followed Rochefort out into the courtyard immediately. But d'Artagnan had barely left the door behind himself when someone grabbed his shoulder, tore him around and hit him. Again, he staggered dazed, again, it was Rochefort in his back who saved him from falling.