M. von Strom - The Cardinal's Red Lily

Rochefort nodded. This probably meant that for the time being, the Duke of Nièvre was going to lay low and entrusted the search to the cardinal's men. Richelieu opened his eyes again, the short rest had let him at least gain some colour on his face. Rochefort's worried expression seemed to annoy him and he waved him out with a final command. ʹTell d'Artagnan about all details you consider to be important.ʹ

ʹMonseigneur.ʹ Rochefort confirmed the instructions and left the study. Outside the door, he paused to reflect. Details that he himself considered important? Richelieu seemed to want to give his stable master plenty of rope. Good. He could approach a first detail right here and now in the palace.

It was not far to the guardroom, and Rochefort did not even have to walk all the way to it; barely turned a few corners, he met Bernajoux, Biscarat and Jussac at the gallery level. These were exactly the men he had been looking for. Or at least one of them, the lieutenant. Normally, the three inseparable friends knew each other's whereabouts at all times, so Rochefort only had to find one of them at his post to ask about Jussac.

The three red guards stood by one of the columns and seemed to have a comradely conversation before they had to go off to their duties. Everyone could easily see that the men were very familiar with each other. Hardly a word, hardly a gesture was needed for them to understand each other. Just now, they were laughing together, patting each other on the back and seemed to take all the time in the world to themselves.

Rochefort watched the trio. Bernajoux was the most taciturn of them, who only interspersed single words to the conversation. He outdid his friends by almost a head and enjoyed the reputation of being a true wrangler. Whenever one had heard of a duel against musketeers, Bernajoux had certainly been there. The scuffles had left visible marks, which told more than any words. Biscarat often made fun of him, saying that if he was only half as dexterous in speech as he was with his blade, no dame could resist him. But with that scarred face, alas!, he would only be half a Lancelot, not yet disfigured enough to be fascinating to women.

Speaking of Biscarat! Like d'Artagnan, he, too, originated from Gascony. His Spanish mother had inherited not only particularly dark and beautiful eyes to him, but also a strict Catholicism in the land of the cathars and fin'amor . His knowledge of the Spanish language and customs often earned him important missions when Rochefort was absent. However, Biscarat was fully satisfied to be a guardsmen and only occasionally a spy, diplomat or simply an interpreter.

Jussac was very pleased with this attitude, as it meant that he did not lose one of his best men to Rochefort. The lieutenant proudly wore the uniform of the guards. It had become a second skin for him over the years, which he could not remove. He would not have wanted it either, the cardinal's guard was always on duty and vigilant. The commanders of other regiments often tried to poach Jussac, luring him with promotions and numerous privileges. Jussac always refused, his loyalty was to Richelieu, and the cardinal rewarded him with respect for his merits and an increase in pay. Jussac bore a lot of responsibility and frequently had a scowl on his face, especially when he saw His Eminence's stable master approaching. Like at that very moment.

ʹJussac!ʹ Rochefort ignored the barely restrained sighing of the lieutenant. It meant no disrespect to him, but was due to the experience that the stable master's appearance usually meant trouble for the guard.

ʹRochefort!ʹ Jussac called back in an enthusiastic tone, as if he had stood at attention at every ʹJump to it!ʹ This could have been interpreted as pomposity, but Jussac was purely and simply not under Rochefort's command; every now and then he had to remind the stable master of this.

Rochefort passed the group and briefly waved at Jussac to accompany him. Questioning looks were exchanged behind his back. Bernajoux and Biscarat seemed to suspect that Rochefort seriously meant business if he did not respond to the usual teasing between Jussac and himself. The lieutenant told the two friends to wait for him and then followed the stable master to a servants' entrance. There he asked, ʹWhat is so urgent?ʹ

However, Rochefort did not immediately give an explanation and Jussac frowned. He felt mocked, especially since Rochefort now exaggeratedly peered in all directions to see if they were alone. Of course they were not. In this palace, there was always someone around and gossiped later. Very in control, the lieutenant said, ʹThe change of guard is waiting.ʹ

Rochefort finally relaxed and thus, Jussac got even more annoyed. The matter could not be that important and serious after all, if the stable master had time for unnecessary secrecy. As usual, Rochefort did not get to the point immediately, but vaguely beat about the bush. ʹI have an important request to you.ʹ

ʹA... request?ʹ That sounded personal. Jussac looked at his vis-à-vis with new attention. Rochefort seemed calm, but the lieutenant had known him for too many years not to be sceptical. ʹNot an order? Really?ʹ

ʹYes. I have a favour to ask you.ʹ

ʹWhat, me?ʹ Jussac made no secret of his astonishment and improved himself; it had to be very important to Rochefort when he asked him a favour . ʹFor you?ʹ

ʹFor me.ʹ

Silence fell after this. For long moments, the men stared at each other observantly. When Jussac finally realised that no further explanation would follow, he threw his hands up and exclaimed, ʹYes, heavens! So if it lies within my powers, I will do you a favour! Without knowing beforehand what it is about.ʹ

ʹTrust me, it is in your power.ʹ The stable master smiled a touch too smug. ʹEspecially in yours, monsieur le lieutenant .ʹ

ʹNow tell me, what is this all about?ʹ the said lieutenant snorted and was secretly relieved to be mucked around with by Rochefort as usual. This probably meant that the cardinal had not yet met his God and would have left his pitiful creatures to their own devices.

ʹStarting from tomorrow, the guard will have a new man in its ranks.ʹ

Such announcements were usually not delivered by Rochefort. There had to be more to it than that. ʹSomeone you know?ʹ

ʹA... friend.ʹ Rochefort outweighed the clear hesitation in his words by quickly adding, ʹI ask you to keep an eye on him.ʹ

Jussac nodded slowly. ʹAs a commanding officer? I can do that.ʹ He had a watchful eye on each of his men anyway, like the mother hen on her chicks. In these matters, he was in no way inferior to a Captain Tréville, and one more guardsman would be of no consequence. But Jussac suspected that he would soon be in trouble because Rochefort suddenly turned an otherwise self-evident task in a personal favour.

ʹThank you. I am in your debt.ʹ The stable master indeed bowed his head gratefully and unusually relieved, which made Jussac not one bit wiser than before, but all the more angry. ʹYes, damn it! You are in my debt and not for the first time! But far too often I forgot to make you pay. One of these days, Rochefort!ʹ

ʹI will keep that in mind. Maybe.ʹ Before Jussac could get angry again, Rochefort turned to leave, but not without dropping a final remark. ʹYou can meet our newest guardsman tomorrow by His Eminence's study before roll call.ʹ

ʹMe personally?!ʹ

ʹPart of the favour!ʹ threw Rochefort back over his shoulder before he left behind a lieutenant who was as baffled as he was annoyed. It was only after he had blinked vigorously that Jussac came up with an appropriate response to this insolence. The stable master had long been gone by then, and so Bernajoux and Biscarat got the whole whim of their superior when he stomped back to them, muttering curses.