M. von Strom - The Cardinal's Red Lily

ʹImpertinence is more to blame on you than meʹ, growled d'Artagnan. ʹNow I understand what you meant in that courtyard. How you would have liked it if I had owed you my life and a favour. To make me such an offer! Fie, Rochefort!ʹ

ʹIndeed, blackmailing your freedom against your sword for His Eminence would not be able to get at you.ʹ

ʹTo hell! Do you have no sense of honour at all that you would extort an old friend?ʹ

Rochefort waved it off. ʹAbove all, I do not have time for games like this. To get you out of the Bastille would even cost me several days and who can say what condition you would be in then.ʹ

ʹOne could almost think that you are worried about me.ʹ

ʹD'Artagnan, I play with my cards on the table. Whether I care for you or not is not important now. This is business, and I am just the messenger.ʹ

ʹWell, my dear garçon de courses !ʹ The lieutenant proudly straightened up himself. ʹThen tell the cardinal that no price on my blade is high enough to sell it to him!ʹ

ʹThe musketeers corps.ʹ

ʹPardon?ʹ

Rochefort swivelled the wine in the cup and looked at it in a pensive way. ʹThe price. The reinstatement of the regiment in full honour. Perhaps even with you as the new captain. Richelieu's influence on His Majesty is more than sufficient for that.ʹ

ʹHa, it certainly is!ʹ D'Artagnan snorted disparagingly. ʹWhy the circuitous route via the red guard? You are out of your mind, Rochefort! The musketeers and guardsmen were never on good terms. Even if it was worth the price, I would hardly survive a week!ʹ

ʹIf you do not play dumb, both of you are going to get along for a while.ʹ Rochefort shrugged as if all concerns were trivial and dismissed with a simple gesture. ʹIt should only last for a few weeks, enough time to prove your qualities again. You will have to endure every difficulty and every contempt for a greater goal. Perhaps even you will be able to avoid a duel for once.ʹ

ʹI feel a great desire to fight with you in my parlour right now!ʹ

ʹBut meanwhile you are too prudent for that.ʹ

ʹYes, I am!ʹ D'Artagnan still could hardly believe what was being offered to him. He, a cardinal's guardsman! Not only the abhorrence of his new comrades would await him, but also the contempt of all former musketeers, all his old friends and companions, if they ever learned of it. If he should ever see Monsieur de Tréville again, the captain would turn away angry and disappointed. Would it be worth it saving the regiment? To become a red guard for a short period of time, as Rochefort demanded? He was anything but so willing to make sacrifices, he was no hero. For good reason the prospect of promotion was still beckoning. ʹShow me your remaining cards! My eternal gratitude and loyalty for Richelieu's generosity in granting me this opportunity and baiting me with the post of senior officer - that will hardly be all.ʹ

ʹDo you hold yourself in such low esteem that your loyalty may not be profit enough?ʹ

ʹWhen was the last time I was standing in the cardinal's way that he needed to retain me?ʹ

Rochefort sighed. ʹI must have been mistaken, you have lost your guts. I will keep my cards closed if you lack ambition to take a risk.ʹ He put down his cup and rose. ʹThen we have nothing more to say to each other for today.ʹ

ʹWait!ʹ called d'Artagnan from a moments impulse. He had clenched one hand to a fist and was now using it as a support on his chin to give it a meaning other than beating up a stable master. Rochefort gave the lieutenant the opportunity to sort out a few thoughts and d'Artagnan finally said, ʹWe both know there is more to it. Will you tell me before I agree to give away everything I have lived for the last few years? Are you willing to take that risk?ʹ

ʹAre you asking a creature of the cardinal or a friend?ʹ

ʹI ask you, you always act both ways.ʹ

Rochefort eyed him for a long moment. Then he turned to leave and said at the door, ʹCome tomorrow morning to the Palais Cardinal , His Eminence's study. I promise you, as a friend, you will be allowed to leave unhindered, if you wish so.ʹ

D'Artagnan waited until he heard the front door fall into the lock. Only then did he rest his head in his hands and murmured softly ʹ Mordieux ʹ.

D'Artagnan stood on Rue St. Honoré , his back to the Louvre and the Palais Cardinal in front of him. He had been staring at the huge town palace for quite a while. By now it seemed to stare back at him.

The rest of Paris only slowly awoke from its nocturnal twilight state. Scattered carriages tore the fog to shreds as they drove past, but the first faint light of the day was still not enough to banish the mist out of the streets. The few passers-by were tightly wrapped in their coats and went by quickly. No one paid any attention to the lonely officer, who was visibly struggling.

After a very short night, d'Artagnan had convinced himself how ridiculous Rochefort's offer was. However, his reflection above the wash bowl looked back in a very tired and exhausted way. As he carefully touched his black eye, he argued with himself that he could at least listen to what the cardinal had to offer. D'Artagnan shaved and sneaked out without waking up his Chevrette.

Further minutes passed by, the dawn was flowing over the roofs and a change of watch was rung in. A familiar process, only in the wrong palace. Angered, the former musketeer chewed on his beard, finally pulled his feathered hat deeper into his forehead and marched towards the Palais Cardinal . No one stopped him as he left the pillar-framed archway and crossed the front courtyard. But as he approached the entrance to the main wing along the gallery, two red-clad guardsmen were already waiting for him. With blatant scepticism they followed his movement and finally blocked his way at the stairs.

ʹCahusac. Sorel.ʹ D'Artagnan nodded at them. They knew each other in the rival troops. Cahusac had fought against Athos in the famous duel at the carmelite monastery one decade ago. Although this happened half an eternity ago and Cahusac had turned grey, no one among the musketeers nor the guards had forgotten the incident.

ʹ Monsieur le lieutenant .ʹ greeted Cahusac harshly and with just enough politeness that it could not be interpreted as sarcasm. ʹWhere to?ʹ He asked monosyllabically, not for lack of respect. Speaking was difficult for him, his voice sounded hoarse. He had been injured by Athos at his throat back then and Cahusac had been bearing the consequences until today.

Sorel stood by in the background, ready to intervene immediately in case of doubt. He was young, in his mid-twenties and in his second year of service. He had yet to earn his spurs and watched the lieutenant, who was barely older than him, carefully without being worried or even intimidated. Sorel still lacked experience of war, but his right hand rested confidently on the handle of the blade. He wore a narrow gold ring on his finger.

Apparently, no one had yet told the guardsmen that they and d'Artagnan were from now on involuntary allies. On another day, d'Artagnan might have been amused by the distrustful behaviour of the two men. Now, however, this delay made him angry in the light of a difficult task. ʹI am invited, step aside!ʹ

ʹNo.ʹ Cahusac replied concisely and his young comrade spoke up for him. ʹWith all due respect, we will not do so until you can prove this invitation.ʹ Sorel sounded almost amused. The lad was a real teaser, he grinned challenging. However, his demand for proof was entirely justified and d'Artagnan would have pulled the wool over the eyes of his own musketeers if they had let anyone into the Louvre on the basis of a single claim. Cursed Rochefort for not having considered this!